There were others, of course. As the years ticked down, Gebre found terself craving simple sexual pleasure more, and meaningful companionship less. Encounters were brief, sensual and, as much as could be contrived, without consequence. Those whose numbers had been called, off-worlders, even the occasional Pilot, who should be mad, might be a monster – they were ideal. Temporary, enjoyable, then gone. After all, what was there to say, now that the end is shining in the sky? Better simply to enjoy, to be enjoyed, to let go and give in.
In this way, Gebre drifted towards the end of days, bouncing from lover to lover, and never once, not for a single moment, permitting terself to love.
Chapter 27
The inhabitants of the Institute gathered to sing in the dawn. There were twenty-nine of them, the last remnants of a staff that had run into hundreds. Afterwards, they drew lots.
Nineteen excused qimself.
Declared: “I have been broadcasting myself constantly for the last four years. I do not know how much of myself will be getting through these radioactive skies, but I know there is still a sizeable part of me that may live again. Consequently I am less invested in this physical form.”
By the way the others looked at qim, it seemed as if qe might say more, as if this was the place and time for the quan to express sentiment, affection even, some sort of bond; but qe simply spun on qis axis so that the single painted eye was facing away from them, and bobbed back into the building.
No one said what they had drawn, when the ritual was done.
Someone gasped – but whether that was at coming or going, I couldn’t tell, and no one asked.
In the end, Gebre came up to me and proclaimed: “Nineteen reports that the repairs are nearly complete. We’ll prepare the truck for departure this evening. It should have enough charge to get you to theEmni, and we’ll pack supplies and emergency equipment incase anything should happen on the ride. Hopefully it will all be less significant than your journey here.”
“Thank you.”
A quick click, nothing more. I felt certain then that te would never leave this place alive.
Someone suggested I tour the Institute, see all the wonders that no one would ever see again. The lower floors had flooded when the endless storms broke through their defences, and the caverns above smelled of salt and the pinching, sulphuric decay of oceanic bacteria, but the residents didn’t seem to care.
Look, they said, look at this. This is over two thousand years old, and here, here – right at the bottom – you can see the chisel marks of the ones who made it, can you imagine? Can you imagine anything you do lasting so long, still being seen, still being admired by strangers for thousands of years?
They cried when they spoke of it.
I wondered if they had always cried when they touched a thing that could be so sacred to both living and dead.
Someone found an exoskeleton. It was designed for heavy maintenance along the sea-cliff walls, and in the end they had to discard the lower arms and lower legs as being unadaptable to my elongated form. It helped a little with my back and hips, though, some of the weight pressing down on neck and spine easing as the joints started to lift my body back from its perpetual Adjumiri slouch.
Ngurta said: “My number was not called. I will not be leaving this place.”
“I’m… sorry.”
“You need to know how to drive the truck, should anything happen. A few others can drive it, but there are systems that might fail – everything is failing these days – so you need to learn. I will show you.”
“Are you sure?”
“You would rathernotknow?”
“I… Please, show me. Thank you.”
By the early afternoon: the shuddering of a storm building out at sea, the endless grumble of a planet overcooked. Gebre stood upon ter balcony and looked across the ocean and said: “It’ll be a big one.”
“Do you know that, or is it forecast?”
“The hardline connection went down a few days ago,” te replied, “And we haven’t had forecasts since. But I know it. It will be big. The truck should be gone before it hits; you don’t want to drive in that kind of weather.”
“Gebre…”
“How are you feeling? Do you still hurt?”
“Everything hurts. But that’s Adjumiri gravity for you.”
“You make it sound like you spend your life weightless.”
