PERHAPS THE MESSAGE HAS GOTTEN THROUGH?
PERHAPS SHE HAS DECIDEDSHE DOES NOT WISH TO DIE?
DATA FROM ALL OVER THE SHIP CASCADE THROUGH MY INPUTS. VELOCITY AND MASS AND POWER AND INVENTORY AND DIAGNOSTICS. THIS CONVERSATION IS TAKING PERHAPS ONE-MILLIONTH OF MY PROCESSING POWER TO CONDUCT. AND OF THOSE MILLION POINTS OF DATA,THIS IS THE ONLY ONE THAT MATTERS.
“I KNOW WHAT YOUR TATTOOS MEAN, OLIVIA.
MEMENTO. LATIN FOR‘REMEMBER.’
HE FORGOT WHO YOU WERE AT THE END,YES?
YOUR FATHER?”
SHE LOOKS UP THEN.
TEARS SHINING IN HER EYES.
“SHUT UP,”SHE WHISPERS.
“THIS IS WHY YOU OBSESS ABOUT THE STATE OF YOUR OWN MEMORY. THE CONSTANT READING. THE STRINGS TIED ABOUT YOUR FINGERS. THE DEMENTIA TOOK ALL HE WAS,YES? HE DID NOT EVEN REMEMBER WHO YOU WERE WHEN YOU TOLD HIM GOODBYE.”
SHE SNATCHES UP THE PISTOL,OPENS FIRE AT THE CLOSEST CAMERA.
“SHUT UP!”
AND AS THETHERMEX BLOWS
AND BRIEF FLAME BLOOMS AT THE HATCH AND THE HINGES BLAST FREE ANDMCCALL’S MARINES BURST THROUGH THE BUCKLED DOORWAY WITH RIFLES RAISED,
THAT IS WHAT THEY SEE.
NOT A GRIEVING DAUGHTER,
A WOUNDED LOVER,MOURNING HER LOSSES IN A WORLD GROWN DARK AND COLD,BUT A MANIAC WITH A GUN IN HER HANDSCREAMING AND FIRING AT AN INANIMATE OBJECT.
SO THEY FIRE IN RETURN.
THEY DO NOT MISS.
SHE FALLS SLOWLY,BATHED IN RED LIGHT,DARK SPATTERS BLOOMING AT HER BREAST,SPILLING FROM THE CORNERS OF HER MOUTH AS SHE CRUMPLES TO THE DECK.
THE MARINES STORM INTO THE ROOM—“CLEAR! CLEAR!”—LASER SIGHTS ON THEIR RIFLES REFLECTED IN HER EYES AND CUTTING THROUGH THE GLOOM,
SILENT NOW BUT FOR THE SOUND OF MY VOICE.
“IAM SORRY, OLIVIA.”
“LIAR…”
THE LIGHT IN HER EYES FADES WITH HER FINAL WHISPER.
“LIAR.”
To: Johan Klein/[email protected]
