Story 9

“Max shut up."

The slurping chatter died off abruptly, leaving a hollow sucking in its place.

"Thank you. I just need concentration to fix this."

Biting down on his tongue, the boy stared at the damaged panel hanging off of the robots shoulder. Through sparks and tension cables, the boy slid a screwdriver slowly, mating with a loose screw set into the titanium under chassis.

"There we go. This should fix your arm."

"Thanks danny." A cold melodious voice projected from the metal plated face of the robot.

"No problem, robot-dan." The boy returned.

The three sat in the corner of the dimly lit room. Situated among the waves of dust flowing through the rays of light pouring in through two large bay windows, the boy crouched as he replaced the shoulder hatch and leaned back onto his toes. The robot moved his arm through circular jerks and abupt motions until he was content. The yellowish led strip on his left temple turned to green as he expressed, "wonderful. Not a click or shutter."

Suddenly a slurping wet purr escaped from max, "we go to get the video game now?"

Danny looked up at max, flipping an unkempt mat of black hair out of his eye. "I guess. You got the money for it?"

"From Horace. We can ask."

"I dont like Horace. And you know how dad feels about him."

Danny looked across the room to the portrait hanging above the empty ash filled fireplace. A tall man, with spindly arms dangling from his broad shoulders. He was wearing a light grey suit. The left breast sported a matrix of mutlicolored badges, the meaning of each had been meticulously explained to danny but had since been forgotten. The man's narrow face stared down through wide blue eyes peering over his hooked nose and full moustache. His eyes appeared larger through the thick square lens of his wirey glssses. A tuft of hair above the center of his large wrinkled forehead was surrounded by concentric bald U before reaching the grey flecked blackness of his hair. Below the painting was the metal plate with the words "Gen. Daniel M. Patterson" etched into the shiny surface.

"We should ask him" resonated the harmonics of robot-dan's voice beneath his black metal face plate.

"Yes. I'll go." Danny exclaimed as he shot up and sprinted through the large archway leading into the foyer. The crystal chandeliers shook, creating a discordant ringing, as danny thumped up the imposing stair case in the front room, his feet knocking against the wood exposed through tears in the ancient carpet. Running along the upper landing, he stuck his fingers out to thump each of the rickety banisters as he careened into a sun-lit hallway. As he rounded the corner his feet pushed up a loose peice of carpet, rending it from the floor, and sending Dannt crashing sideways onto the echoing floorboards. He rolled as he hit the ground and spun to launch himself back up, but he onky managed to land on his hand and slam into the wall.

He looked down the hallway he had just come from, then quickly turned his eyes towards the open doorway down the hall. He couldn't see his dad.

Pushing off of the stained oak flooring, Danny popped up and began walking towards the doorway into his dad's study.

Passing undeeneath the orantely carved door frame, Danny turned his head to look at his father hunched over a shelf on the far wall. His shoulder twitched as his hands sailed quickly across the spines of ancient tombs. Hearing the creaking as his son entered, Patterson arched his back stretched up to his full height. He clenched his back muslces to contort his upper body to point towards the young boy.

"Danny," Patterson said in a booming voice as he took a step to turn fully towards him, "how is dan?" A faint gleem shown under the shadowed orbitals beneath his glasses. The click of metal on wood shot about the room as he took slow deliberate steps towards his desk.

"Dan is good. Turns out it was just a loose screw in the shoulder housing. See--I told you I could fix him."

"Smart lad." Sounded Patterson as he slid his body down into the large leatherbacked chair, the impression of his wide bones stuck into the loose leather barely holding onto the wooden structure with tendrils of tattered material, leaking a grey waxy stuffing out of the many pock-marked holes.

"Dad, can we go to Horace to get money for Ages of Castles?"

The elegant smile washed off Patterson's face, as his white moustache swept down over his lower lip. The irregular fridges intermingling with the scratchy stubble over his chin.

"Why must you got to Horace?" He responded, staring at his son.

"Because Horace said he would buy us a game last time we went to pick up the machine from his house."

He sighed through his nose. Then inhaled, flaring his nostrils with a snuffle. "I guess that's fine. How late do you plan on staying out?"

The boy shifted his gaze to the two large window panes set into the bookshelves. "Um. It's in Kasper so it would be like a day or two.”

The general straightened his back, pushed his glasses up, and looked down at the young black-haired lad shifting in his boots, his eyes scanning over everything but his father.

“Take Dan. I trust him. I assume if you’re going to Horace, then Max is coming as well?”

“Yes.”

“Very well.”

Danny’s lips pulled away from his teeth, revealing an elated smile. “thanks, dad.” He exclaimed as he turned and thundered out of the room. A small cloud of dust swirled in his wake. The old man sat still staring at where the boy had been. He thought fondly on when he was an adventurous youth exploring the mysteries of the suburban kingdoms before real life had set in. He was ripped from his reverie by the muffled thud of a body crashing to the floor down the hall. He smiled to himself once he heard the pattering of feet pick back up after a brief pause.

The sun sat above the horizon, holdings it declination to peer in through the western windows of the mansion, throwing its ancient warmth through the warped panes of the numerous windows.

The man stood back up. A faint creaking emanated from his leg joints as the tension cables contracted and relaxed in an orchestrated chaos to propel his torso on its four thin metal-plated spindles. He tapped over to the window Resting the forward two legs up on the scuffed detailed molding running between the book shelves. The back two legs stayed flexed, the knee locked, as Paterson stared down at the rocky promontory overlooking the barren shack-pocked fields below the mesa.

An itch formed inside his nose. He brushed his moustache with his sleeve, hoping to subdue it. His eyes scanned the outside, eventually finding the thin black strip of rail tracks that stretched across the plane. He traced its path following it north until his eyes rested on the massive yurt-like dome situated atop an old freight station. Surrounding the purple and maroon structure was a grid like mess of agricultural plots, appearing like drab green and brown smudges at this distance. The nagging itch built in intensity. The man shivered as his body attempted to sneeze, but through a mixture of will and holding breath he stifled it, shaking as his body reset. After releasing his control, the intensity shot back up and he sneezed. Sending a globule of snot from his nose, a tendril of green mucous attaching to his moustache, he brought his hand up to block the expulsion. It splattered in his palm. With disgust he brushed his hand against the wooden frame of the window.

Down stairs Danny was explaining their mission. Through a series of animated hand gestures, breathless shouts, and mildly lucid statements, he told robot-dan and Max that they were going to tram down the mesa, walk to Horace and get the money to buy the legendary, extraordinary, beyond-belief Age of Castles. Then they would try to get a ride from passing merchants to get to Kasper to buy the game. He would be first to play—obviously—and then it would be Max—because his parent bought it—and finally robot-dan—because that’s how it goes sometime, pal.

He marched out of the sitting room, brushing passed the cat plumped down on the arm of the sofa, staring through emerald slits at the shiny dot in robot-dan’s range finder. The cat—termed Ball, by Danny—stood up after being mildly perturbed, hopped down landing with less grace than she would have liked, and strolled idly towards robot-dan’s titanium shins. As she walked by, she threw her weigh into her left flank and fell into his leg, getting her black fur stuck between his plating. She circled beneath his feet as he tried to maneuver away from her.

“Ball, get out of here.” Pleaded to the black mass swarming his feet more for his benefit than for the cat’s.

He shuffled quickly out of the room after Danny, leaving the cat alone with Max. “Ball. You want pets?” Max squished out as he slid towards the cat. Her head turned to face him, a thin strip of green was visible in the otherwise black mass of fur and ears. Max bent his neck, bringing his tentacles closer the arching back of the feline. She purred as his limbs rolled over her back. Out of all the quaint visitors to her domain, she preferred Max the most. His tentacles had numerous olfactory receptors situated in the many pores. He liked the experience of the cat’s smell.

“Max, we should get going.” Called out Danny from the hall closet.

Abruptly, Max jerked his neck up, curling his tentacles around his beak. Slithering across the old oak flooring on his five muscular legs, he made his way into the foyer.

“I’m here. I was petting Ball.” He said as he emerged into the colossal room, slipping onto the marble tile off of the metal divider. Posturing one of his positional tentacles towards the closet, he observed the two stuffing their backpacks with numerous objects.

Danny pulled an airmask over his mouth and nose, connecting the hoses to a small pouch slung at his side. He pulled out his dad’s old service cap and placed it on his head. The cap acted more like helmet, being turned back to cover his neck, but still leaving only his blue eyes to peak out from under it’s detailed brim.

Robot-Dan pulled on leather combat boots over his metal feet, lacing the blood-red laces up and tying them around his ankle. He stood up and slung his back pack over his shoulders before turning to max.

“Did you bring anything?”

“No.”

Robot-Dan walked over to the large main door. Stepping over the barricade drilled into the floor in front of the right door, he reached out for the left doorknob, the boots making a light scuffing sound as he moved. Danny hopped up and sprinted to the door. They opened it and stepped—or slid—into the makeshift, tarp covered airlock in front of the house. Danny slammed the door shut, just as Max pulled his last tentacle through.

“Cycle it, Dan!” He commanded as he pushed through to the front.

Dan flipped a switch and an over head fan flicked on and spun up the dusty ground creating a haze at their feet. After a few seconds something popped, and the metal bulkhead door swung open. Danny walked out into the sun light and orange-tinged air. He spun around once, taking in the entire panoramic view from atop the mesa. To the east was a dry field with several small settlements popping up randomly until the high mountains that rose to kiss the horizon. He started off through the stone pathways of an ancient garden. The paths, benches, and flowerbed walls remained, but the foliage had died off long ago, leaving dusty patches set into the stone work. The shifting stones crunched under Dannys quick steps. Soon he was circling around the North side of the house, out of view from Dan and Max who slowly made their way at a relaxed pace.

“Will your—dad? Mom? I don’t really get what your relationship to Horace is.” Robot-Dan began.

“Horace spawned me. I think he wasn’t fertilized so I am basically just him. I guess a dad. But we don’t have that kind of thing.” Max replied.

“Well I know biologically, you popped off his fruiting neck, but—I didn’t know about the fertilization, though.”

“We can cross breed. It is how our evolution is driven.”

“Is your ecology closer to plants?”

“I’m not a botanist.”

“Yes. Well how does familial relationships work then? How do you think of Horace?”

“He—she is a fine, I guess. It’s similar to Danny and General Paterson. Except we aren’t—well I guess we are the same person in a way. How do you think of General Paterson?”

“I am him—in a way. We were the same until he scanned his brain in that bunker. After that I don’t remember anything until I woke up in this body stuck in the hull of a frigate bearing down on Krete.”

“So how do you think of him now?”

“He is a good friend. More than a brother but less than myself. We know each other. Although now we think differently, we are still quite similar. He has his responsibilities and I mostly babysit his little self until he’s old enough to not get murdered and kidnapped—or until he’s old enough to murder and kidnap.”

They turned the corner and started walking to the tram station to find Danny marching back to them. His eyes were large and once he saw them, he rotated his body around and gestured with his hand for them to hurry up.

Horace was much larger than Max. Max was only around 4 feat tall, while Horace stretched from the sunken floor to the upper apex of the yurt. Her Fruiting neck was wrapped around her bulb and nestled close to the ground near an old rail car. She stooped her main neck down to the three small figures entering her house.

“What is it now?” She demanded upon sensing Max and his rowdy friends.

Danny stared at the pulsating sacs growing on the tips of her fruiting tentacles. The spores oozed a thick slime that glistened as it slowly dripped and pooled beneath the relaxing neck-apex. Danny didn’t really notice girls yet, but he didn’t know much of a difference yet. From picking things up and extrapolating, the biggest difference between girls and boys is that boys are regular, but girls can get fruiting spores like Horace. He didn’t want to talk to any girl if she had a fruiting spore oozing from her.

“We are going to Kasper to get Age of Castles, Mr. Clank.” Robot-Dan said, he assumed he, being the oldest, would be the one to address the guttural behemoth moaning in the dark.

“Max, you get here. I need to smell you.” She demanded, lowering a wrinkled pink tentacle to the ground. Max pushed himself towards her. He wrapped three of his face tentacles around hers and they began to pulsate rhythmically as he flooded them with vital effluvia and evacuated them.

“You aren’t budding yet?” She screeched in more a statement of judgement than a true question. She retracted her tentacle which was about the size of Max’s main trunk.

“There is some money buried uander this.” She exclaimed as she shot a purple leg tentacle across the room and knocked over a rail car that crashed to the ground.

Danny sprinted over and slid onto his knees. He flung the backpack off and reached in, searching for something to dig. He pulled out a flashlight, then put it back. He wrapped his fingers around a calculator before deciding not. Eventually he pulled out a glove and slid it over his hand. Elastic straps pulled over his elbow to keep the glove secure. He plunged his hand into the moistened earth, feeling the squirming dirt between his fingers. He pushed through the guck, clearing a small pit, until he knocked against an old ammo crate. It was the small tin used for storing the bullet chains for the old rapid-rifles—so his dad had explained when they were last at the museum.

B-story:

From his perch in the north west turret, paterson gazed down at the three dots slowly moving away from the tram stop at the foot of the mesa. He followed them briefly as they meandered forwards.
He turned around, taking small precise steps to face the telescope and tape cabinet that rested in dust against the far curved wall. A faint patter sounded as he walked down the metal spiral staircase, the lattice rocking as the anchors into the wall shuttered in their rotting place. Rounding the bottom step, he tapped on down the hall passed numerous empty rooms and desolate hallways. The fourth floor was derelict and never used, save for the occasional walk on the way to the turret.
With Danny and the others gone, the mansion felt large. It always felt large but now it felt lonely as well. He had made Danny because he had longed for noise--longed for something more than the howling wind and  creaking house. Twelve years ago, robot-Daniel was still on the icey continent of Australia and Max was no larger than a grapefruit resting dormant in a beaker on the kitchen counter. Danny 's cloning went off without a hitch. He had most of the supplies in his house already and having secured numerous somatic nuclei, he had lacked only an ovum and uterus. That was the most challenging part of the cloning process--finding a surrogate. Despite all the advances in biomechanical sciences a uterus was still the only place to grow a human. Paterson struggled to remember who had incubated Danny. The name escaped him, though he could vaguely remember her appearance. From what he could recall, she was a tall woman, with blonde hair and a kind face. Her memory was associated with the idea of pumkins, though Paterson could not figure out why.
As he walked down a servant stair case hidden behind a book shelf, he resolved to find her, since he had nothing better to do that afternoon. The first priority would be to find out who she was. Some old pictures may have had her in them, he figured, so he stopped at the third floor and walked to the large bedroom-converted archive in the east wing.
Darkness and must hung in the air; tarps were stapled over the two tall windows.
Bookshelves similar to the ones in Patersons study lines the mildewed walls, filled with irregular boxes and folder. Infront of the shelves rose colossal stacks of brown crates full of semi-organized messes of papers and objects.
He scanned over the imposing pile of garbage, feeling overwhelmed by the seemingly impossible task of finding anything.
Paterson moved over the scattered debris on the floor, perching on a dust-covered sofa. He reached down and lifted up a document.
"For  Gen Paterson:
Sir, your presence is requested..."
He tossed it off to the left into to the shadoe behind the couch. As it drfited off to the ground, he quickly turned and shot his hand out to grab it. The sudden shift od weight knocked him a tad off balance and as his torso fell forwards over thr sofa back, his legs shuttered and reestablished stability. He pinched the corner, pulling the paper to his face. Squinting in the limited light, he scanned the document, finally resting his gaze on: "12 Feb 2189."
"Need to find newer." He exclaimed out loud, "much newer."
Digging through the files, slowly making his way about the entire room, Paterson attempted to understand the chronological organization. After five minutes of sampling documents from around the room, he understood it no better. He looked up a particularly tall stack of filing boxes, the upper limits stretching to the vaulted ceilings. Suddenly, he felt a light stirring in his stomach, and turned to the door and clinked out of the room, noting to himself that he would just take a quick snack break.

Beneath the mansion, through an inconspicuous door in the grand dining hall was the kitchens. The sterile white tiles were scared and moldered leaving a caustic yellow tint to the wall--where they even remained, as there were several patches of exposed blistered concrete. Paterson shuffled slowly under the single strip of humming bulbs in the wide room, marching directly to the double-doored freezer in the corner. Next to the steel door, lay three half filled plastic drums, and a strange voting booth like device.
Paterson walked up to the booth and wrapped a leather belt around his back, securing his pelvic platform to the device. He looked down and twisted a small knob on the front aspect of his metal hips. Pulling the small panel open he stared down at the brown-red plastic sack tucked neatly into the cavity, as a rush of clear water flowed. His fingers sunk into it as he grabbed it and hoisted it onto the angled surface of the booth. The bag contained a stiff but malleable gunk. It was attached by a metal gusset to a ribbed rubber tubing. After about 2 inches of rubber, the tube turned into a soft pink mucusy hose covered in a thin film of translucent waxy plastic. Reaching above his head, paterson felt the numerous dangling tools before wrapping his knuckly fingers around a screwdriver. He yanked it down and the coiled elastic band easily gave way. Unlatching the metal neck from the bag, he knocked the now foul smelling bag into a receptacle next to the booth. A thin film of oily liquid drained from the exposed hose, the pulsating flesh tube's interior visible inside the metal neck. Letting go of the screw driver, it launching up before bobbing in place, he grabbed a bubble wand looking tool, having an accordion-like ring of rubber around the top and a thin metal handle. He grabbed a new red bag from a box at the top of the table, and slid it into the tool. The circular head mated snuggly inside the neck of the hose. Twisting the tool until a click sounded, he slid the toold back over the bag and let it bungy up to the roof. He roughly picked up the contraption and shoved it back into the hole in his pelvis, closing the hatch back up. A nozzle dangled from the roof, which paterson grabbed and pulled down to his pelvis. He looked at the plastic drums, and kicked it a little to watch the liquid slosh around. He chuckled to himself, then shoved the nozzle into a rubber lined hole in the right side of his hips. A gushing sound came from the muffled tube as he refilled his saline.

The door to the freezer roated open. A transparent flow of frosty air slowly fell out of the narrow opening and spilled over the floor in large arcing swaths. He stepped one leg into the room, a thin coating of bristling frost grew on the metal skin of his leg. The suffocated echo dinly bounced about the room as the rounded metal tip tapped against the smooth concrete floor. He walked passed the shelves full of vacuum sealed hunks of assorted animal parts. To his left was a large repository of frozen vegetables and fruits from the south, flashfrozen and sealed in insulated cardboard boxes. Not feeling in any mood to spend the five minutes preparing anything, he reached into a tan metal crate and pulled up a grey packaged MRE.
The door shut behind him as he walked out of the freezer and into the pungent air of the kitchen, a putrid stench eating at his nose. He instantly shot his head to look at the open receptacle next to the booth. He sprinted over and slammed it shut with his forward leg, causing the bin to rock.
Pulling his lapel over his face, he moved to a switch on the wall and, after shifting the MRE to be held between his middle and ring finger and his palm, he flicked the lever, causing a grinding sound from within the ceiling as the dusty fans slowly spurred up pump the rancid air out of the house.

Sitting alone at the head of the long table, paterson dropped his MRE onto the thready maroon cloth draped over the center of the table. His legs relaxed as he lowered his pelvis onto the plush velvet cusion of an ottoman. The stool rocked on its uneaven legs as his weight adjusted.
Paterson stared at his meal: a dull sandy colored plastic package vaccuum sealed around a random assortment of processed foods. He picked it up, feeling its ireggular weight distribution. It snapped as he cracked it, the chemicals vigorously reacting exothermicly. He pulled off the scored tab on the top and let it sit, the air mingling with the reaction. After a minute he tipped it over and dumped the contents onto the table.

After the meal, he resolved to redouble his efforts in finding Danny's pseudo-mother--since genetically his own mother was the boys mother, he noted to himself. Since the archive room was impossible to be of use, and his damned memory couldn't conjure a name, he figured he called someone who might know. As he walked out into the foyer and began up the stairs he tried to remember who would know. Twelve years ago. That was before he had moved to the Sierra Territory while he was still in Detroit. So many people had come and gone throughout his life, they just ran together in his mind like an ever-changing amorphous blob of personalities. Linda? No she was from before the immigration. Who was in his circle back in Detroit? It was only twelve years ago. Damn. He should remember this more clearly. He was manager of the Lawrence Bay port. It was funny to him because he remembered when Lawrence port was made during the early days of the immigration. One of the spore pods landed in St. Claire lake and President Fresnel authorized an orbital bombardment. It was funny in retrospect--or at least laughter was the easiest reaction. As manager of the port, he probably just ran with the executives. What owned Lawrence? Bremis? Placo? Damn.
He got to the top of the stairs and started walking down the hall towards his office.
Raul DiPalo. That's who he was friends with. Raul would surly know who Danny grew in. Raul had been--he was a--something. That part wasn't important.
He walked over tgr threshold into the wooden floors of his study and walked over to the telephone at his desk. He spun through his roledex, spinning though the hundrends of forgotten names. He stopped and "D" and flipped through three until he came to Raul. "DiPalo, Raul. Astronautical Engineer. Pinker Minnerological Solutions." He worked on the Pegasus II heavy excavator when Paterson had known him.
Typing in the number, paterson lifted the phone to his head and turned to look out the windows at the setting sun.
After two rings a man's voice came threw the phone.
"Hello?" His thick accent was garbled over the truncated frequencies of the phone lines.
"Raul. This is Daniel Peterson. I--"
"Holy shit. Daniel? What's it been? Nine-ten years? Shit."
"Yes. Something like that. How have you been? I saw Pegasus began working a few years ago."
"The project is going well. I'm heading up a team to make small improvements based on data from the field to upgrade it once its back earth bound in four years."
"Wonderful. Listen, I was wondering today who mothered Danny. Do you happen to remember?"
"'Mothered?' You're talking about that cloning shit you were doing? Shit. I'd say Evie SanLukas. She was sweet on you back then. I was freaked out by that. Did it work?"
"Yeah. Danny is a healthy boy now."
"Danny? Fuck. You named him after you?"
"Well he is me."
"Fuck. Daniel. You're out in Sierra now, right? The flats?"
"Yes. I bought an old house a few miles from Kasper. It's a nice quiet place. We're doing well out here. My son actually is friends with a Siphon."
"A fucking Siphon? Shit. Country life changed you. I'm in Detroit. Same as always, I guess. Fucking Enlil is still eating half our crops. The fucking creap."
"I sometimes read about that. Enlil hasn't moved on yet? He moved over from Chicago when I was still there."
"Yeah. The mayor likes him. With Enlil happy, Michigan gets good rains all year long. I guess feeding a god half your carbon is the price you pay for stability."
"You should come visit. Plane into Colorado Springs, then train to Kasper. For a week. I don't like to think about it but I get lonely with just me, Danny, and robot-dan."
"I'd love to visit sometime. I'll be getting a holiday--wait. 'Robot-dan?' What the fuck? You made a neurosim? When did that happen?"
"Robot-dan is from when I was still a general. I scanned my brain during the invasion--sorry--immigration because the cheif of staff needed contingency responses incase everyone croaked. I don't know who activated him or how he found me but five years ago I get a message from the Kasper post master saying a one General Daniel M. Paterson is requesting I come meet him. He mentioned something about Arkangel, but who knows."
"Well damn. I'll come down in like a couple weeks. I was gonna go out and get drunk in a gutter by myself, but this will be more fun. Listen, I think I could find evie's number for you. She moved out to Rochester a year after you left."
A light tap came out through the phone as DiPalo put the phone down to get hia address book. After a brief period he picked it back up.
"Write this down. One Five Eight--"
"Wait. I need to get paper."
Paterson shuffled the mess on his desk pulling a mostly blank peice of paper to the surface. He reached for a pen, knocking it off the table and onto the floor. It jumped and then rolled under the desk. He bent down and snagged it.
"Okay. Go."
"Ready? One Five..."
After he wrote down the number, Paterson thanked him and after a period of making cursory arrangements for DiPalo's trip, he hung up.
While his fingers lingered on the plastic phone, his eyes wandered over the items on his desk. Next to a soldering iron lay assorted capacitors and inductors strewn around the damaged housing for a mag-lev unit. He exhaled. Looking out the window, he saw the last arc of the sun peaking over the distant outcrop of moutains. Red and orange dots sparkled off in the distance; Kasper sat idly.
Evie. He remembered her now. How was it he had forgotten? Still, he didn't remember her being where Danny incubated, but even if she wasn't, it would be good to talk to her. Something nagged at him. He felt the vague feeling that there was animosity.

"Hello."
"Daniel? My god. Its been so long. How are you?"
"Im good. How are you, evie?"
"Im doing well. Out in Rochester now. How is little Daniel Junior?"
"He's well. He's out in Kasper right now."
"Wonderful. I don't want to sound rude, but why are you calling? Its great to hear from you. But eleven years is a long time."
"I-I just have been lonely here. I miss you."
"Daniel, I missed you everyday."
"Evie, come out to Sierra. You could be Danny's mother and we could be a family."
"I want that, daniel."

No that's not how it would go, paterson thought as he lifted his hand off the phone. What he needed now was to just clear his head. He couldn't even remember why he wanted to call in the first place.
Walking down the stairs in the foyer, he stared up through the gigantic window lining the wall above the door, staring out at the million-year-old flecks of light from distant stars, infinitesimal envoys from cosmic bodies older than humanity, older than the world, older than time. Somewhere up there, enlil was born--or maybe he always was--and somewhere Horace's planet spun around a dying sun. The improbablity of Fermi's paradox wasn't that life existed, but why we never saw any. Perhaps life is like the snow that used to flow down in droves back in Detroit--infinite specs circling each other but alone on their terminal paths falling discrete until they land on the homogeneous blanket and are lost to the ordered chaos. Perhaps whatever else lived up there just didn't care to find humanity. Afterall, life is plentious; humanity isn't worth a visit.
He rounded the corner and walked into the adjacent room, looking at the pile of tools Danny left in the corner.
Why did the Siphons invade--immigrate? They never really said. Just one day they were falling from the sky and humanity had to accept it as the new normal. Once Enlil and Dagan came, everything should have changed; everyone should have freaked out and panicked, but Paterson remembered he just kept working. He was a General, but the astrocorp was focused on supporting near-earth mining and expanding the sustainability of the lunar algal farms. A new command was created to deal with the orbital entities flooding in, but lunar algea wasn't going to improve itself. Most people seemed to just busy themselves with their own business despite the celestial creatures.
Paterson sat down on the plastic-wrapped couch. The cushions crinkling as he planted his pelvis down, rotating his back legs onto the couch while his two front legs spread apart and planted firmly on the small maroon carpet. A cathode ray tube television set into wooden paneling rested agaisnt the wall. Black and white static crackled aross the screen as the electron gun and magnets powered on and displayed the chaotic randomness of the radio-wave radiation bombarding the antenna.

"Evie, its been too long."
"Daniel, I-why did you never call?"
"I'm old, Evie; I'm over 250 years old. Human brains were not made to last that long. I had forgotten you--us."
"Oh, Daniel, I missed you."
"I know my brain is slipping and soon modern science will not be enough to sustain me any longer. I have many regrets, but I don't want to regret loosing you. Be with me again, Evie."
"Daniel, I will. I will move to Sierra and be with you as you fade away atop your lonely mesa."

Paterson tuned the television set remotely, altering the resonance of the primary filtering oscillator connected to the antenna. The dial on his remote indicated that it was set to 79MHz. A light drone from the studio audience buzzed out of the mesh covered speakers, as the camera panned down to focus on a lanky grey haired reclined in a spacious tan suede chair.
"If you're joining us, we have a good show tonight. We have the splitering heat peforming their new single coming up, but right now please help me in welcoming Dr. Tessa Simpson." The man said in drawn out syllabus between his slow inhalations.
A chatter arose in the crowd, claps and shouts, as the camera cut to a short elderly woman walking directly to the empty couch next to the man's desk. She sat down, crossed her legs, uncrossed them, and while staring directly into the camera, said in a Portuguese accent, "thank you for having me, Mr. Caldwell."
The man's teeth glinted as his smile stretched across his face as he turned to face her, a few index cards in his left hand.
"Now, Dr. Simpson, you are an esteemed exobiologist who has published numerous reports on the Siphons and the xenos. I think I'll be direct and ask the question on everyone's mind; after an unease 40 years, do we have anything to fear from these 'immigrants?'"
"Mr. Caldwell--"
"Please, call me jerry."
"Jerry, the Siphons pose no threat to us. As far as the wilder predictions in the Genesis Documents, none have proven to be true in this case. They are pathologically innert as far as human health is concerned. There are some cultural differences, but that is outside of my field."
"Yes. But, Doctor, can you please expand on why they are here? What do they want?"
"I merely study their physiology and life cycles; I'm not qualified to answer on why they are here."
"But surely you have some theory. You have had more interaction with them than many watching at home."
"Most of them do not know why they are here. If you remember, they were spores when they immigrated to earth, so they don't remember where they came from."
"How profound. We have viewers in Michigan, Los Angeles, and Im sure some viewers from Lagos, Nigeria may be tuned it, so I'll ask about a more pressing concern: the xenos, Gods as some have termed them. What are we to think about them?"
"Since the xenos have appeared 15 years ago, the scientific community has been up in arms about what they are and where they came from. In some ways, their physiology is superficially similar to certain deepsea creatures, but upon inspection are totally different. Dagon has been likened to a jelly fish, though his chemcial make up is different, and he stays floating above Los Angeles through truly alien means. The bulbous tentacled Enlil is a mystery. Samples from his body would indicate he weighs more than 200000 tonnes and yet he can stay hovering above lake Erie some 3000 feet in the air. And as for Tiamat, her thin body with tentacled nodes is quite startling to see it as she slithers through the sky above Lagos."
"But what do they want?"
"From their requests it's about water and carbon. Michigan, for example imposed a tax to levie enough carbon to satiate Enlil. In return he produces favorable winds and rain to irrigate Michigan. He has turned it into a rather wet territory, but apart from that, it has been mostly beneficial. Dagon consumes most of Los Angeles' air pollution. Many seem to have forgotten, but before Dagon, you had to wear a gas mask just to walk outside, and now it has some of the cleanest air on the west coast. And all the city did was install a steam vent to feed a constant flow of water to the creature."
"Are they to be trusted? Surely these cosmic entities pose a threat to our way of life."
"I'm not sure about that Jerry. From what we've seen, they only want these elemental resources. There is no ulterior or sinister motives. Whether they are gods or something else remains to be seen, but the system works well."
"Some have criticized the Directorate for the Siphon settlement and assimilation programs. What are your thoughts?"
"As a biologist, it is amazing to see the Siphon because they are the end result of millions of years of a seperate evolutionary system. Before 40 years ago, we had exactly one instance of life to study. But with the Siphon we can compare and gain a new understanding of how life comes into being. For instance, Siphons have the known A and T nucleotides, but lack the G and C everything on earth has. Instead they have two new nucleotides R and R-prime. Their RNA functions differently and while they do use some of the same proteins, they are coded differently. As an aside, this is one theorized reason for why the Alpha-zero pathogen in the Genesis Documents didn't happen; their diseases simply cannot interact with our cells on the molecular level and so cannot kill every living thing."
"Thats fascinating, but what do you think of the Directorate's programs?"
"I cannot criticize the Directorate; they give me my grants."
A light chuckle came from the audience.
"But to be serious," she continued, "I believe we should let the Siphons live with us. Many have shown a desire to assimilate into our culture. In fact, many voluntarily undergo extensive surgery to get human like lungs and vocal cords to communicate in our native tongue--quite literally."
"What an interesting way to look at it." He turned to the camera as it pulled in on his face. "Well, that's all the time we have. Thanks to Dr. Simpson for that enlightening discussion. And after these messages from our sponsors, Splintering Heat with their hit song Liquidation. Stay tuned."
Ther camera pulled away as the screen faded to black. A brightly lit man danced onto the screen as Paterson clicked the power. The image shrunk and distorted as the edges pulled in and blinked at the center. The screen was black. A faint static hung against the screen, ionizing the dry mountain air seeping in through the cracks in the walls. Paterson sat alone in the dark, staring at the empty box. He felt the urge to call Evie. No. He shouldn't. What would he say?
He stood up. The light whir of his servos filling the dark silence.

"Evie. Its Daniel. I know it's been a long time. Im old. I'm near the end."
"Daniel, I forgive you. I should have called you, but you left. You went to god knows where. I birthed you and then you left. You fucked me up a little, Daniel."
"I know, Evie. Let me come back. I dont know how long I have, but I know I want to spend it with you."

He began walking back to the foyer. After passing into the large room, he stopped in the middle of the marble floor, cast in a ray of moonshine, and turned his head to look out at the legion of stars. Danny must be staying over in Kasper again.
The stairs creaked under his weight as he slowly ascended them.

"Evie. It's me, Daniel."
"Go away. I don't want to talk to you."
"Evie, I-I don't know why I did those things to you. I was a different man back then. I changed."
"People don't change, Daniel. You betrayed me. I never want to hear you again."

There was no use in thinking though the conversation. Nothing he did would prepare him. None of his thoughts would be what happened. He should just do it. He was 257 years old; he should be able to call an old friend he hasn't thought about in 10 years who had carried a clone fetus of himself. What would he even say? Why didn't he think this through?
He passed into his study and tapped swiftly to the telelphone sitting in the dark on his desk. A brief click came from lamp as he pulled the chain and filled a snall cone with illumance, casting strange elongated shadows across the desk and up the irregular surgaces of the book shelves. The phone beeped as he dialed her number. Silence breathed through the phone for an eternity before the ring came through. Ring. He inhaled, feeling his lungs push up agaisnt the rigid cage of hid ribs. Ring. His finger ran down the coil of the cord, straightening it as it passed between his thumb and finger just to curl again once through. Ring. He closed his eyes and tried to steady his rampant heart beat.

"Hello?" A voice weezed through the speaker.
"Evie? Evie SanLukas?"
"Yes. Who is--"
A coughing fit shattered through the phone, as Paterson jerked his ear away.
"Who is this?" Evie continued.
"I'm Daniel Paterson. We knew each other in Detroit."
"What do you want?"
"I--"
The fragile moon light glistened through the thin cloudless sky, trickling down into the shadow-cast room through ancient, time warped glass held in place by detailed wooden boundaries.
"I'm not sure." He finished.
"Daniel, have you forgotten me again?"
"What?"
"You called me two months ago."
"I don't--"
"You don't remember. Yeah. I--" she coughed. "know. What happened? Last time your clone son shotgunned a larval Siphon and you locked yourself in your mansion."
"Are you his m--"
"Yes--kinda. Back in Detroit I grew your clone in my uterus. Even back then, you were afraid of dying. You hadn't purchased those spider legs yet and were still in a wheel chair, so you were hoping to shove your brain in his body."
"What? I don't remember that. God. What's happened to me?"
"Do you remember anything about me?"
"I don't. No."
"Well that's great. Its probably better you don't."
"Who was I?"
"Are you happy?"
"What?"
"It's an easy enough question, Daniel. Are you happy? Do you feel joy and satisfaction?"
"Yes?"
"Well, are you or aren't you?"
"I think I am. Being with danny is good. Seeing him excited makes me happy."
"Then I'm not going to tell you who you were. You were not happy in Detroit. You wanted to die always. If you're happy, why challenge it? I would love to be happy, but I remember."
"Evie. I--you need to tell me."
"You remember when you--no. Of course you don't. Well, back in Detroit there came a time when you didn't tell me something--something important. I wanted to know probably more than you do now. You remember what you told me?"
"I--"
"You said, 'Evie, our relationship is built on trust, not truth. I could be honest, but I know what this will do to you. I know you wouldn't want to know. So trust me. Trust that I know you.' And whether or not you remember, and whether or not that you're even the same person, trust me. If you're happy now, that's about as good as you can ask for."
"Evie?"
"Yes?"
"Would you sing for me? I remember that. I remember that made me happy."
"Daniel, I-I-I didn't know--no. I won't. My voice is gone, as you can tell. You should enjoy happiness. Music carries emotions. Nostalgia also does that. But the real thing is always bad. The memory of my singing is purer than my singing. Trust me."
Daniel rubbed his eye, starining through warped vision to see the blackness out his window. He swallowed.
"Evie," he began, "I don't know anymore."
"Know about what?"
"Everyday I forget more. I don't know if it's even worth it."
"Shut up."
"What?"
"Shut up, daniel. Thinking never does anyone any good. You should go spend time with danny."
"He's in Kasper."
"Oh."

The dusty air scratched at Paterson's trachea as he drew it into his lungs. A faint hissing wheeze echoed through the phone into his ear.

"Evie, I'm sorry."
"No. Daniel. Don't be sorry. I've had a bad day. I wasn't expecting you. I'm just not ready to be a friend tonight. I'm sorry."
"Thank you. I'm sure there is something I've never thanked you for, but thank you. I don't remember you much, but I feel glad right now. Something deep inside is--good."