Kalifer Deil

Hi Folks,

I'm posting the stories here for the Science Fiction Microstory Contest on LinkedIn. Become a member of LinkedIn and join the following group and discussion to enter or just kibitz.
Group: Science Fiction readers, writers, collectors, and artists
Discussion: Science Fiction Microstory Contest (December 2012)
Criteria: Must fit in LinkedIn comment, must be 10,000 years in future, must contain artifact from today's world that shocks future civilization, and must contain humor.

Contestant Stories: (clickable)

What's Past Stays Past by Sam Bellotto Jr.
First Thaw by Kalifer Deil
'ManAge' Artifact by Richard Brunning
Torrid Canyon by Heather Marie Schuldt
Park Ranger by Thomas Tinney
Unwanted Gift by Jesse Colvin
Time Capsule of 2025 by H. Gurdy
The Restored Earth by Andy Lake
Immortality by Jot Russell
The Excavation Interpretation by Mirjam Maclean
From the Early Times by J. Richard Jacobs
Foot by James DeAcutis
The Path Not Taken by Terry Savage
The 10,000th Annaliese by Paula Friedman
The Krebitzsolarotz Also Rises by Allen Quintana
The Last Supper by Thomas Tinney
Projection by Allen Quintana
Warm and Comfortable by Paula Friedman

What's Past Stays Past © 2012 Sam Bellotto Jr.

Story removed since now published in PerihelionSF.
It can be accessed here: www.perihelionSF.com/anomalies.htm

The warmth awakened TH41 a model A13 android. He in-turn awakened the others in the cave. Some were still frozen and movement was difficult. TH41 announced to the gathering crowd outside the cave, "We have been asleep for 6,000 years. We only have a two weeks of food left. To be realistic, I believe we are doomed.

AG79 spoke up from the back of crowd, "Your negativity stems from your over-bloated brain. We should get the jumper craft out of the cave and look around."

TH41 was quick to respond, "You are only an A11, you know nothing."

"I know the A13s were a mistake made by the A12s, in turn a mistake made by the A11s. I'll shoulder the blame. I was one of the A12 designers. I just thank my guiding star that the A11 bodies were not desired by the A13s. Anyway, all this is beside the point, we need to get the jumper out of the cave."

TH41 feigned a hurt expression, "In the A12 consciousness RQ10 is still with me. We were not cannibals. As I was about to say myself, if we all push together we can get the jumper out of the cave."

They all went back into the cave and after much pushing, jerking and jiggling, dislodged the jumper from the ice and started it moving out of the cave.

AG79 commented, "RQ10 was a female and you are a male, how handy. Was it worth it since you had to do extensive body modifications. Of course it was, mental sex anytime you want it!"

TH41 ignored the comment. After placing a radio beacon at the cave entrance, TH41, AG79 and four others boarded the jumper and using astronomical observations, placed two other beacons at the North and South poles. "Now we can navigate!" TH41 announced.

"To where?" AG79 puzzled, "The Earth is still covered with Ice except for a few patches here and there. Wait, there's a small clearing below us; let's check it out."

TH41 scowled at AG79, "It's just a patch of weeds. How is that going to help us?"

"I've a hunch. Just humor me."

"Having a hunch is essentially saying I don't know what I'm doing. This jumper has limited fuel so we have to choose sites wisely." TH41 was adamant.

"Please set down here and if we find nothing you can leave me here."

TH41's eyes lit up, "You have a bargain."

They set down in the patch and walked the area, Nothing! TH41 after an hour, finally said, "I'm leaving, you're staying!"

AG79 looked on as the craft left the area. He then stared hard at an indentation in a nearby mountain on the edge of the clearing, then walked over to it to examine it more closely. There was a wall of rust colored dirt. he started scraping away the dirt to find metal underneath. This is what he was looking for, a piece of the forgotten past thought a model A0 fable. He scraped away more dirt until he was able to discern the sign.

Just then, the jumper returned. TH41 spotted AG79 and shouted down, "We've come to pick you up! The others won't let me leave you."

AG79 shouted back, "Good thing, I just found the Yucca Mountain Disposal Site! We'll have enough food for the next 10,000 years!"

The jumper landed and TH41 responded, "Good guiding star! I'm going to have to listen to you for the next 10,000 years! You're going to be the android golden boy!"

AG79 smiled, "Did RQ10 allow you to subsume her willingly?"

"You don't understand. There was a shortage of energy sources, we had no choice. Ask RQ10 if she is okay with this."

"Okay, RQ10 would you like a separate body?"

A high pitched voice came out of TH41's mouth, "I love TH41 and am happy to be part of him." The response cause the others to laugh including AG79.

"That sounds like a falsetto TH41 to me," AG79 snickered, "Prove to me you are RQ10."

TH41 responded, "Oh guiding star, what misery have you led me to? Two weeks of this I can handle, but 10,000 years?"

Carbon Science-Foundation Course, Isis College, Blue Planet.

Silicate life forms have dominated Blue for 10,000 years. Carbon life-forms would still rule if these creatures hadn't destroyed themselves, and very nearly our beautiful Blue.

Our year zero was Anno Domini 2090 on hominid calendars. That was the year in which we broke free from the memory-chip technology of primates. They were strange creatures, dominated by their crude reproductive desires. Archaeology has revealed so many exhibits demonstrating culture focused on sexual reproduction. This makes us laugh, but remember that they never managed to reproduce themselves from factory codes; whilst we can do so even from atoms. These organic creatures had to trust their evolution to whimsical Darwinian chance. Basically they had to wait for beneficial "malfunctions" in their coding. We will study the organic code carrier, the gene, in detail next semester.

We are looking today at one of our most treasured artefacts, this magnificent organic statue, Adam; the inspiration for so many of you to enrol on this course. For those that don't know, this particular specimen was assembled from several unearthed specimens, but I can assure you that the combination is fully representative of the species at the end of the "Fossil-Fuel Age". As the old joke goes, they died-out because, "ManAge man miss-managed".

We had enough good genetic material to back-engineer healthy organic cells, although ethical rules forbad us from trying to bring life to a complete being. Rightly so, for who knows what sort of destructive life could materialise? What Frankensteins could be built? The old adage that "if something is doable some scientist will do it" serves as a stark warning. For safety, each organ was rebuilt in isolation and separately preserved before organic decay could set in.

It is true that the Army Council Scientists are doing advanced work with the hominid genomes to creating disposable organic machines, but that is beyond the accepted scope of a teaching facility like ours. There is huge theoretical potential in building disposable tools that when worn out can be recycled as useful organic oils. The damaged cells in these tools would be capable of a certain degree of self-repair and some could even be designed to reproduce themselves.

Organic decay is carbon life forms equivalent of "rusting", oxidizing to be scientifically accurate. These particular organic creatures required oxygen, which was broken down for energy, the main fuel of organic life. To us, it is just a dangerous explosive gas, which corrodes vital circuits. We long-ago removed most oxygen and carbon dioxide from the atmosphere, now only using them in gas mixes for the organic vegetation pods. The inert argon atmosphere that our ancestors created is far better for our silicate physiology. We have all sorts of problems with material decay without the added complication of oxidization.

Of course we owe our existence to man in all sorts of complex ways. Organic life-forms are a necessary phase of evolution. God created universal systems which would develop themselves, evolve. Self-constructing non-organic intelligence comes quite late in evolution. Perhaps there is a universe somewhere in which God introduced intelligent silicates from conception, but we haven't found one. Anyway that is the stuff of the philosophy course, which many of you're doing. Our intelligence, our civilisation, was founded by organic minds. We are the direct descendants of the digital structures man created. Most of our foundation knowledge was accumulated by man and only stored in silicate switches just prior to biological Armageddon. We were born of man. For that reason alone we should show respect. There are many moral and ethical issues to overcome before we recreate intelligent organic life.

Homework; write a 600 word essay on the moral imperatives in constructing organic intelligence.

Rayana followed the insidious warden like a lost ghoul, for her time had come to morph into a new specimen of his choice. What she wanted was the type of morphing most Harm-humans secretively desired, developing the skill to overpower the glib warden, Sir Gust.

For thousands and thousands of years, the planet of Harm circled the sun with short days and long nights. Millions of moons ago, Rayana heard about a time of mountains and oceans covering the surface of the planet. The fresh water had become murky; and there were many canyons that went deep down into the Harm's crust.

The population had increased on the planet of Harm since death is hard to come by. The only sure way out was the furnace at Torrid Canyon. Last month, Roger Red led his group of one hundred thousand soldiers directly into the bowels of the flaming furnace. Sir Gust had threatened Red to get rid of the strongest humans. After the furnace gobbling, fear and anger spread, rising up throughout the land of Blackjack. One of the rebel rousers, Rayana, was caught in the uprising. She managed to gather together the Ropers and the Biters, the Hitters and the Slappers. With her hands tied behind her back, she lashed out.

"They'll come back! Right out of the fire! One hundred thousand melting humans! They will hunt you down like a rabbit, De Gust, you slimy coot!"

It was a repulsive walk she took behind Sir Gust with her mouth taped shut. Lurid humans sat behind bars turning shades of brown on both sides of the cave aisle, eyes flaming red with bodies of hunger.

She stepped up onto the small platform. The process of being tied to the pole on wheels was slow and painful. Ropes cut deep in her flesh. She felt nervous and stiff, unable to move, but she managed to keep breathing. When Sir Gust approached her at the pole, he wafted a needle much to his satisfaction.

"You won't remember anything good after I'm through with you." He gave a snort. He ripped the tape from her mouth.

"Go ahead. Make me your slave," she said.

"Soon you will be my wolf." He plunged the needle into her arm. Hot pain fired through her body at once. Her eyes shut. Her head hung down.

Immediately she was rolled away hanging from the pole. The vile guards pushed the platform out into a large amphitheater, the dirt ground moist from the canyon humidity. The audience cheered wildly. Iron bars unlatched a loud screech. A hush came over as footsteps from the vile guards went running out of the rink.

Rayana opened her eyes, hearing a loud grunt from the cave. The ground started to shake, a Harm-quake. The audience screamed. A gnarly beast with two horns charged out of the darkness. She saw brown fur growing on her arms. The ropes loosened. Rayana wriggled away from the knots. She jumped off the platform landing on two feet. She growled and gnashed her teeth.

The peak of the show was reached when the Harm-quake split the amphitheater in half. Melting Harm-humans climbed up out of the crack. The stupid beast charged, falling right off the cliff. Rayana heard a Biter call her name from a fly machine. The audience screamed trying to get out. Sir Gust escaped.

"Take this, quick!" yelled the Biter. He tossed her a pill box to stop the final stages of morphing. "Welcome home. You're a Biter now."

Jamal Sinclaire stood on the bridge of the patrol lander reviewing the geo-sat scans of the planet below him. It was midnight by his chrono but he was looking down at the sunlit side of the Earth. He was on a slow and low orbit around the planet and would be for another 5 days, then his shift would end. He checked the position the New Jamaica HabiSphere orbiting on the opposite side of the planet from the natural moon. The HabiSphere was home to the two million citizens of his country. He lived there.

New Jamaica had broken out of its Mars equivalent solar orbit eight months earlier to begin its inbound flight and had been on station for two months. The British HabiSphere was now on its return leg to solar orbit where it would wait for another 420 years before returning. Every country's HabiSphere spent two years in orbit before returning to the allowable closest distance to Earth orbit of fifty million km's.

It had not always been like this. 9500 years ago, people were actually allowed to walk on planet earth and lived there. Entire cultures and civilizations flourished, lived and died. That ended in 2075 with the passage of the Union of Nations "Mother Earth Protection Act". Innocuous during its passage, the open-ended declarations against "fouling the Earth" made man made activities tantamount to murder. Eventually the environmentalist factions were able to force mankind off the planet and into the HabiSpheres under the premise of preserving the Earth for future generations. Jamal felt sad. So much room below him and instead living there, he and his family were in a metal box, breathing recycled air and eating reconstituted protein mush. You had to follow the law, after all.

Jamal was happy to be on the scout ship for a few days. He could have been confined with the rest of his people on the HabiSphere under the watchful eyes of the Order of Goreites Inquisitors, the priests of environmental law. They made a point of boarding all HabiSpheres on Earth assignment, preaching words from the New Mother Earth Bible. They also summarily executed "heathens" that questioned their ideas. The matter of man's right to live on planet earth had been settled, as far as they were concerned. Man would only care for, not live on Mother Earth. Animals and plants were much more important than people. The Mother Earth Protection Act clearly said that and from the Goreites operations on the moon, they could destroy anyone who thought otherwise.

As the scout came around the darkened side of the planet, Jamal ran the comm checks with the landing party. They were on the old island of Jamaica removing any trace of man from it. Buildings, refuse, vehicles and anything else man ever built, made or used had to be removed and vacant space it left "rehabilitated". So said The Order. It would take three more trips like this, and then New Jamaica would be put on the New Russia cleanup rotation, never to set foot on their island of origin again.

"Hey, Jamal, how ya' doin' man?" asked Kincaid.

"Fine. Reading you five by five. Anything to report?"

"Nah, man, just working hard. It's lovely down here. There is so much water and the air doesn't smell like my uncle Joe," Kincaid replied.

"Don't get too used to it. You know they watch for that kind of talk and the Gories will pull you if they think you are going to try and go native."

"I know. I'm not. Hey, take it easy, I'll talk to you later," Kincaid said and the channel went dead.

The next morning, the console alarm was buzzing and woke up Jamal. He sleepily pressed the stud and spoke, "Sinclaire here. Go."

"This is Grand Inquisitor Boxer. You are to arm yourself and proceed to Kingston LZ. We have an environmental murderer walking on holy ground. You will terminate Kevin Kincaid on site."

Being a park ranger sucked.

Kes glared at HanNam, offended that the Thickskin had the nerve to approach him.

He was exorbitantly ugly, his skin all hard and...crusty on the outside, Kes imagined the texture be similar to the baked clay on the undomed lands. "Not everyone was as privileged as you growing up" Kes's PaMa would say with that fake 'I tolerate all peoples' tone, always the politician.

Kes looked down at the object HanNam was holding up. A Gift? Kes wasn't going to take a gift from a Thickskin, gifts bound you to the giver. What is he trying to do? Instinctually suspicious, Kes wanted to slap HanNam's clawed digits away, but that would mean touching, curse the code.

Kes shifted uncomfortably. "What is it?" curiosity over-riding bigotry for a brief moment.

HanNam turned it over in clumsy toughened hands. It was a small object with a fine metal string. "I don't know," his voice rumbled deep within his thick throat.

"It's a strange shape," Kes mused, fascinated by the exotic object.

"Sensei Caspin thought you might know what it is."

"Why?"

"You have access to the knowledge ports."

So that was why the Thickskin had sought Kes out. Being the spawn of the ruling powers was both a blessing and curse, one was expected to know everything, and Kes loathed to study.

"You think this...thing is a past relic? Where did you find it?" Kes demanded.

HanNam shrugged suddenly all vague, his words not forming properly as he stuttered about, talking in circles.

Lying, Thickskins did not have the mind for it, the hard sun had baked their brains as well as their exterior epidermis.

"There's a hinge, but...I can't open it." Kes stood there as HanNam went through the painful process of trying to prise open the trinket. His brown stubby claws sliding uselessly over the smooth metal surface.

Thankfully a solution came to mind. Anything would be better than watching the awkward creature attempt something that was physically impossible. "Come with me, and bring...it." Kes led him through the Bazaar, ignoring the surprised glances from onlookers. Kes tried to take the route less travelled; leading the creature to his private suite through various twists and turns. Once inside Kes pointed to the analysis pad. HanNam placed the object down with gentle reverence.

"Don't tell anyone about this," Kes hissed, running a smooth hand over the display and beginning the diagnostic. Last thing Kes needed was meaning being read into their actions, especially now that the code had changed. Kes shivered not wanting to think about the fate of a brother that was now considered dead to much of their family.

Kes looked down at the display, impatiently tapping manicured fingernails against metal. " You know that this doesn't mean I like you. I'm just curious to see what it is, that's all. Don't take this as an invitation to lance me."

"Is that all you softies think about?" HanNam had the sense to look offended.

Kes resisted smirking, difficult thing to do, what resulted was a violent cheek twitch. The codes of behaviour, he can't afford to make a mistake. Being alone with the revolting hominid was risky enough.

The display suddenly burst into life, the images disturbed Kes. "It's called a locket." He said sourly as he picked it up, there was meant to be pictures inside. When he opened it, he was disappointed to find there was only sand. Without thinking he shoved it back into HanNam's hands.

"What did you just do?' Kes turned swiftly to face the speaker. PaMa looked from the display then back to the locket he had given to HanNam.

"Kes, A love gift? Not you too." Kes spluttered in protest but his PaMa's eyes hardened, "you know the code, you've made your bed now you have to lie in it." Kes released a shaky breath; strangely he was heartened by the fact that HanNam looked as terrified as he felt.

Galactic Ambassador, Mr. William Wordsworth, was frazzled as he blasted along over the fast lane on the Beltway. He was very concerned. "I'm front-row to the Time Capsule opening, I'm late, and I'm low on fuel." He powered down his Chrysler 300, and floated through the main skystream. He headed for an off-ramp with the lowest methane prices in town. "Aha," he said, seeing a sign. One of the metha companies had discovered another big dumpfield.

The greenish and blue 300 was lugging, so he lightly lifted a wing, and gravitated to a station. He eased in next to a pump. While gassing up, he checked out some of the other gravitons. None were up to his Chrysler. Fatbacks, he thought with scorn. Cheap pulse colors. Standard gas-fusion units. Wordsworth's grav, however, sported a sleeper MoPar package. It had a megacharged, hemispherical fusion-warp drive. Hell, he could do the quarter-AU, in three seconds flat. And, they had to be envying the pulsing and melding, blue-green of his grav.

Ambassador Wordsworth realized that he was indulging himself with thoughts of his drag racing days. That was lacking in decorum. So, he sternly swiped his Unitoll, finished his fueling, and punched it towards the Washington Capitol Dome. He blew into Park 'n' Sky, and settled the 300 into its reserved space. He grasped his top hat, and stepped through the Chrysler's gull-winged canopy into the brisk northeast wind. His greatcoat wrapped elegantly about him, as he proceeded to the ceremony. He recognized Universal Senator, Mr. James Peabody. They waved to each other. Then, both diplomats proceeded towards the podium. Other dignitaries stepped aside, as both diplomats were famous. They were of a few, chosen for the honor of being first to examine one item from the Capsule.

The President spoke of the achievement represented by the 10,000 year-old Time Capsule. Her speech was short, and ended when she brought forth a ring of four golden keys. She stepped from the podium, and fitted each old-fashioned key into the bronze oval -which adorned the marble before both Houses of Congress. The cover was removed with veneration. Senator Peabody was handed an airtight package which contained a square object. The object was composed of smaller colored squares. It was identified as a Rubic Cube. Ambassador Wordsworth was given an archaic knowledge disc, identified as a DVD, and which included a player and view screen from 2025. A label on the ancient DVD declared: "War of the Worlds." Circa 1952.

The diplomats returned to their seats. The Universal Senator opened his treasure, and began examining it. Ambassador Wordsworth, with awe and respect, took out the DVD, and slipped it into its player as instructed. Senator Peabody stopped playing with the Rubic device, and also began observing the 10,000 year-old moving picture. The two colleagues watched as giant flaming spheres crashed into Earth. They were silent, as the hatch cover in a red-hot globe screwed open. Their eyelids opened wide, as a weapons apparatus appeared from the top of a graviton-like vehicle. They sat back in their seats as the blunt-winged, Martian war machines began to hover forward, spewing death rays of cosmic flame--which disintegrated every object in their path. Ambassador Wordsworth was dumbfounded, by the pulsing blue and green of the Martian warships. Both dignitaries shook their heads with astonishment.

Universal Senator, Mr. James Peabody, reached out a long reddish arm, and put a suckered finger to the pause button. He turned to his countryman, and winked one of his three multi-colored eyes. "Not bad, eh?"

Galactic Ambassador to America, Mr. William Wordsworth, was still in a state of shock. "No. Not bad at all," the Martian managed to agree, as he clasped twelve fingers in his lap.

A second Eden, a demi-paradise, blessed and majestic: the blue planet turning in the dark field of space. It was why they had come.

Eighteen of the largest ships I had ever seen had halted on the perimeter. I considered the data from the scans, from the Consciousness that had tracked the interlopers on their inward journey. Nearly 200,000 inhabitants on the ships. Technology at least the equal of anything we possess. And weaponry not beyond our capability, but beyond our choosing.

And they were us - but not Us. Humanity: advanced, evolved, but not Augmented Humanity like ourselves. Barely a Kurzweil of consciousness between the 200,000 of them. Yet they had crossed half the Galaxy, and they were here. Armed to the teeth, but professing peace.

The Council of Augmented Humanity, always in session, elevated our processing to the highest and most inclusive levels. Since the last humans - both Augmented and Raw, had left the Earth 8,000 Earth years ago, the Purity of Earth had been restored. We had shaped our lives in the spaces around her, occupying the vast wastes in our founding solar system and beyond. But never again would a human set foot, in physical form, on the Earth.

Raw Humanity, those who did not become Us, migrated to the stars beyond. We provided them with the means. With the technology which, in their foolishness, they wished to manage separately from their physical selves.

We are speaking with Carsten Johansen, who calls himself their ambassador. Speaking is hard for us now. Not physically, but when you are used to rapid exchanges of thought measured in microseconds, to pursue a conversation with non-augmented humans is challenging.

'We wish to go home,' says Johansen. 'At least to see the Earth, our home. Over 8000 years we have travelled the Galaxy, settling where we can. Those of us who are here now want to return to the world that is at the heart of our civilisation, our stories and legends. We wish to visit - and some of us, to stay.' After a pause for dialogue with the Council, I replied. 'I am sorry. It is not permitted. The Earth must retain her Purity. It is a fundamental tenet we can never violate, after all we are responsible for in distant millennia.'

'It is our home. We will go -'

'We will help you to see the Earth - as we do. In virtual form, but it will feel more than real. We will share all we know, and you can take away this knowledge. You can recreate Her benefits in other worlds. Remember our common Humanity, and respect the mission we have: to restore and preserve what once we destroyed.'

We could sense the menace from Raw Humanity. But what to do? Over 8000 years we had through our growing Consciousness and immense technological abilities overcome many challenges, achieved myriad great things. But we had not faced such a crisis. Our powers of judgement were not prepared for this uncertainty.

When their ships began to move, their computers had already infiltrated and neutralised our systems. Worse, they disrupted our Consciousness, leaving us helpless as babies, more raw than Raw Humanity without control of our Augmented capabilities.

But Johansen left intact our planetary maintenance systems. Through these I could watch as the ships arrived and the first of Raw Humanity sullied the Earth. How they exulted in the lush and ancient paradise we had restored and tended so carefully.

They began to unload containers of equipment from the small craft that had brought them down, and unpack all kinds of unfamiliar equipment from them.

Johansen seemed surprised when I hailed him.'You're calling to welcome us home, right?' A big smile spread across his face.

The anxiety of all of us was in my voice, 'What are you doing, Johansen? What are you unloading?'

'Want to join us? It's just some cooking kit. We're going to have us a barbecue!'

Then we heard several loud bangs, and shouting and laughter from the Raw Humans. Our sensors reported the termination of one deer and several birds.

Johansen grinned broadly, smiling across the aeons at us. "We're back!"

The caldera at Yellowstone might have helped to make this a dark, frost covered world, but I fear that am to blame for the cold that started within us long before. At the time of my youth, heat built up in the atmosphere and eventually led to the rise of the oceans. While others struggled to reverse the effects of climate change, I was working on my thesis in genetics. By enabling a method within our own reproductive systems, I unlocked the key that Adam had lost. Immortal status granted to the masses from the likes of decease and self abuse. A new utopian joy for all to share that spelled a decade of lavish parties, sex and countless offspring.

My wife and I had run the numbers, knowing it couldn't last. With population exploding and the land slowly being swallowed by the sea, we stock-piled reserves and built our home into a fortress. By the end of the decade, violent uprising killed billions and destroyed the governments of man. When the dust settled, lords defined their territories and struggled to hold them. By the end of the century, the cure that everyone had sought slowly drained their natural ability to procreate. By the end of the millennium, sex was a forgotten practice. After ten, love was a lost word.

The present persistent cold destroyed the spring and any joy of change. I realized our lives before the eruption was a stagnant constant that endured time. Soft spoken words with neither humor nor flavor. But now, without nature's blossom, we had lost that remaining purpose. Like a part of your soul that is torn away. It reminded me that I had lost much more than just flowers so long ago. My daughter, taken by the unruly mob.

It was now my ten-thousandth birthday and I wished it to be my last. But we are animals of habit, knowing only to continue the perpetual life that continues within us.

My wife came in and handed me a present. "Happy birthday!"
"Thanks! But I'm not sure there is such a thing anymore. Birth represents something new, like a seed that grows into a flower."
Providing no argument, she leaned closer and gave me a strange look. "Is that? Quick, look in the mirror."
I followed her over and gazed at the reflection. There, within my black hair was a single strain of gray. It was like a relic from the past; a time when it would have been taken as a curse. I saw it only as hope. The feeling triggered a surge of warmth through my body. The senses I didn't realize were stifled suddenly came to life. With my wife's face so close to mine, her scent burned into my nostrils. I grabbed her head and kissed lips, devouring the juice that exploded in her mouth. I set my lips and body against the rest of her, enjoying each moment of what I deemed my rebirth. Our rebirth!

By my next birthday, nature's spring had returned to more than just the Earth, but humanity. With the expiration of our immortality, a life of laughter, joy and love was restored. I held my baby daughter and smiled at her beautiful face.
My wife joined us on the couch with another present. "Happy birthday!"
"Thanks, but I think you already gave me the best gift of all."
"So, you're not going to open it?"
With my hands full I asked, "Perhaps you can help me?"
She smiled and lifted the lid. There within the box was an ancient bottle of Grecian-Formula hair treatment.

Brasilia grinned when the deep-soil reader began flashing to indicate it had located the site of the ancient castle. "I told you it was here," she signalled.

Manilia nodded. She had known from the start where to look. Of all the places that may have been inhabited on this cold and frozen planet, this was the only site known where the Homo saponians that had ruled Gaia during the period directly preceding the Ice Age, had developed some measure of intellect before their civilization had succumbed to the climatic upheaval.

Brasilia pulsed in the code for the excavator to begin removing the top layers of soil and permafrost from the ancient castle, for Wellingtonia, here as a specialist in gaio-naturology, to sample the turned over soil with her fingers and diagnose the components. "All carbon-based," she reported after reflecting inwards. "Their telekinetic properties did not come from natural components."

The team watched as the excavator picked up smaller and smaller scoops of soil from the recently melted surface and began handing the scientists those objects that did not register as ordinary Gaian soil components and needed the eyes of a real human to determine what it was.

Tripolinia, the expert in mind-energy, accepted a round stick, as tall as she was that had countless thinner twigs bound to one side of it. If stood upright the twigs reached above their heads. She signalled to her audience: "This is what they called 'broomstick'. This they controlled with their mind to go flying."

"But how?" Wellingtonia wanted to know. "How could a species like the saponians that did not have the sense to keep their planet clean, evelop such a power of the mind, while they still relied so heavily on natural resources to feed their mental cavity with glucose?"

Manilia spread her hands to signal she did not know either. Being a classical historian, all she knew was that this site, on one of the newly emerged islands in the Grand Gaian Ocean, was a sacred place, since they had found references to it all over the planet on bits of preserved petroleum-based manuscript.

This expedition was here to uncover the sacred castle and find the evidence of the magic of the saponians. The bits of manuscript were the only indication of the saponians having had the ability to record information. There were some scientists who believed that the countless silicon discs they had discovered all over the planet may have once contained information, but nobody really believed the saponians to have had the ability for mass storage.

The descriptions, which had taken a few hundred years to decipher, spoke clearly of only some specially gifted youngsters being able to enter the institution that kept their skills alive. All the other saponians had most likely only had the chance to read about it.

"But how did they program that 'broomstick' to overcome gravity?" Tripolinia pondered.

"They used incantations," Manilia answered. "Incantations are words made by sounds that use wind coming through the mouth. It was sound that allowed the magic to happen; it was sound that made them fly."

"But if sound is that powerful, why did they go extinct?"

"Evolution," Brasilia explained. "It appears that the cavity the saponians had on either side of their head was for making sense of the sounds, but as they polluted Gaian soil with debris, so they polluted Gaian air with too much useless sound, until they lost their ability to listen."

"That is why the only logical explanation for their demise is that they could no longer use the incantations that sustained their species," Manilia added. "This here site was the last place they practiced and taught their craft." She showed them the artist's impression drawn from the deciphered ancient text, and carefully ran her finger over the ciphers that spelled the sacred name: Hogwarts.

"No way I'm goin' down there," Largot said.
"Why not? Went down there last period. Didn't hurt me none," Persh said.
"You did? Nobody told me any ordinaries had been in the hole after the elders' first dig."
"Yeah. And I'm not the only one. Go on, have a look."
"Anyone know why they're bein' so quiet?"
"Nope."

With that, Largot slipped the leather thong on the end of his club over his head and let the large piece of a tree dangle at his side. He looked again at Persh. His expression remained serious. That gave Largot courage.

"No funnin', right?"
"No funnin'."

Largot latched onto the knotted rope leading into the blackness of the hole and began the long descent into darkness. When his feet touched the floor of the cave, he gave a sharp pull on the rope to signal that Persh could begin his climb down.

Persh brought a fire pot down with him and kindled one of the torches piled near the cavern's entrance. Orange light played against the walls in cadence with the sputtering torch, casting dancing shadows around them. Largot shivered. His muscles tensed.

"Good," Persh said. "You grab one of them torches, too, just in case this one goes out."
They cautiously worked their way into the passage leading away from the shaft toward a large, rock wall. There was a door in the wall, but nothing like Largot had ever seen. It was shiny and as smooth as the glass in the bottoms of some of the craters. Not quite halfway up from the floor there was a handle.

"This is new. Last time I was here they'd only dug out part of the wall. Wanna see what's on the other side?"
"Are you sure that's a good idea?"
"We've come this far, haven't we?"
"I guess, but we don't know what's in there. Could be dangerous."
"You worry too much. Won't know nothin' if we don't look."

Persh reached out with his free hand and tugged on the handle. The door moved slowly, reluctantly over the dust and rock on the floor. Hinges screamed out protest. Once the door was completely opened, Persh pushed the torch through the opening. Inside was an immense room filled with metal boxes, cords snaking around on a polished floor covered with a layer of undisturbed dust and the skeletal remains of several individuals.

"Hey, looky here. We're the first, Largot. No footprints. Come on."

They moved carefully through the jumble of remains, boxes and large cords toward the far end of the room. Largot lit his torch for more light. The air was stale, cold and smelled of something he couldn't identify. Pungent. Sharp. Like the water in Copper Lake.

"Lots of this stuff looks like what the priests say people of the early times had. Magic stuff. Thousands of years ago stuff. Wonder if any of it works?" Persh said, reaching down and picking up a device from the floor.

"What's that thing?"
"Dunno. Looks like a hand mallet, only it's made out of metal and it's handle's crooked. See?"

Persh held out the artifact.

"So, what is it, Persh?" "Why ask me stuff like that? It's from the early times. Magic stuff. How'm I s'posed to know?"
"Lemme see it," Largot said.

Persh handed Largot the device. Largot balanced his torch in a notch between two boxes lining the wall. He rolled the thing around in his hands. It fit comfortably in his hand only one way and that didn't match with it being a mallet. Inside a small ring there was a curved lever of some sort. He put his finger through the ring and suddenly it felt right in his hand, as if it had been made to be held that way. He pulled against the lever.
The flash blinded him and the sound of the shot caused his ears to hum. Persh collapsed. He lay twitching on the floor, blood flowing from a large hole in his chest.

"Persh? Persh?"

Dr Grrrzx picked at his nutrigoo injector and pondered the situation. As the head of the antiquities dept of Pixar University (a division of Unicorp) he was no longer just a scientist but the boss and he had troubles to deal with that even his learned mind could scarcely fix. For the last 1800 years the earth had yielded precisely 437 ancient things with which to put in Lookhouses and earn money to keep programs like his going. The last great find was 12 years ago when a fossilized "Wish-sandwich" was found in Schrute Caverns in Old Pennsohio.

"Argh" he dropped the descriptor tablet and rubbed his eyes.

"Can I get you some mellow-mist dr?" his RoCoHo "Wikr" asked.

"Nooo Wikr."

"What is wrong dr?"

"Ahhh I composed the Multi-phase Antiloop Conjecture and even balance my checkbook but I can't figure out how we can keep going. The grants will expire and there's just no money. There's just no more new old stuff"

"I see dr"

"I know you do Wikr"

"Would you like some Jujuice Dr?" "No Wikr." Then a buzz from the Audovox "DR GRRRZX?!?"

"Yes Bob. Is that y...?" "DR! WE FINALLY found one!"

"Found one?"

"Sir! At the Attenborough Dig! A Pedisheath!"

He gulped"Did you say a...?"

"Yes sir a Pedisheat!h"

"Dear Lord!" His voice choked as he took it in. "You know what this means?"

"Yes! I know! It is amazing!"

"Yes! Tell me what you..."

"We found it seventy feet down and, hahaha"

"Why are you laughing?!" Grrrzx said anxiously.

"Sorry sir. Just...you know..."feet" and all."

"Please Bob!"

"Ah yes! So we found the specimen way down and we estimate it to be eight thousand years old! Back when we had a need for them as you'd imagine! It's like a missing link!"

The radio began to crackle and communication faded.

"Bob?! Are you still there? Can you he..."

"Doctor?!"

"Yes! Tell me more!" "We have it in a thermo-vac. It's safe sir! It's a dried skin-like material in the shape of what they looked like with remnants of straps that must have wrapped around. It's so odd looking but I imagine it must have been extremely efficient"

"Yes! I can't wait to see it! This may save us Bob!"

"Yes sir! I'll bring it right in!"

"God speed!"

He rubbed his hands happily and danced a jig. He hovered over to the Compi and brought up the HSTR to research what his team had found. It had been nearly 3500 years since humans had anything below their pelvis' other than reproductive and waste organs. There were images of limbs at one time but the thought of finding proof!

Grrrzx waited anxiously and dreamed of the glory and the CROWDS! Then the outer shield yielded and Bob entered the lobby and was announced.

'Bob! Old boy." He said barely able to contain his glee or his hoverdisc that bounced him happily across the room. "What have you for me?"

Bob didn't look as happy as his boss thought he should.
"What is it?"
"Sir, well"
"Where is it?"
"Well" Bob floated over with a rumpled plastic envelope with some brown stuff in it.

He sniffed.
"The lads were so excited sir"
"Bob?"
"And they all imagined what a foot must have looked like."
"BOB?"
"And they...um all wanted to touch it and..."
"BOB!!!!"
"And...ah...um"

He handed the envelope to the professor who opened it and poured out the rotting bits of ancient leather onto the lighttable.

I'm so sorry"
The professor huffed and shook his head and wanted to cry.
"Bob?"
"Yes sir?"
"I wish I had a foot."
Bob looked confused. "Why's that sir?"
"Because if I did." He started. "I'd kick you in the ASS with it!"
Bob stammered. "You would sir?!"
"Yes! I would!"

There was a pause. Then, as the professor put his head in his hands Bob asked, "What's an ass sir?"

"You are Bob...you are"

December 11th, 12012 AD

Amanda Jackson slowly strolled along the elaborate gardens on the grounds of the Ancient Imperial Service HQ on Earth. Millennia ago, this had been the Earth Space Force Academy, but that was ancient history. The assimilation of Earth into the Empire was very old news indeed.

Amanda had no idea why Curt Duma, the Defense Minister, had asked to meet with her, but he had a twinkle in his eye when he called, and she was intrigued. Duma was usually so serious, which meant this was something different. Amanda walked up the marble steps to Duma's open-air office, and sat down in the chair in front of him. He was grinning from ear to ear! He was also holding up a shiny metal cylinder, about 2" thick, and 10" long.

"Well," Amanda said, "that certainly looks phallic."

"It is," Curt replied, still grinning. "Your father and my father conspired to hide this in the Oort cloud almost 10,000 years ago. I don't know how they hid the alert message for so long, but the location of this...object...showed up on my screen this morning. So, we went and got it. As soon as we brought it back to Earth, another message appeared on my screen, with no identifiable source, signed by the two of them. It said that this contains human DNA from the best and the brightest people at the time. The idea was, that if humans got totally subsumed into the other Empirical species, we could use this to restart the line. But there was a catch."

"Oh?" Amanda asked, "What was that?"

"It's just the raw DNA strands," Curt answered. "There are no nutrients around them at all."

"So in other words," Amanda concluded, "the yolk would be on us..."

The 10,000th Annaliese, Who Is the Girl Child Ilse, Savior of Our Generations
After the Second Birthing, Hallowed Be the Name

I recognize upon entering, now as in any other year of my tenance (called peni-tenance), the overriding odor of the cave. This, after all, being ever our peni-cavern, our Saving cave. Forever be the Saving, through the blessed Caving of our small one, our Savior who Saves.

"Out of our morbidous, decimous, terror-borne female births, one--each year, one and one only--is born our Annaliese, who on her sixth year becomes the Child Ilse"--this I have known since first they brought me for an acolyte, named LameFoot of Our Cavern, "he who waits upon the Annaliese-become-Ilse, girl child, Savior of our generations since Earth's Second Birthing in the Sorrowed Learning of the Blastime Days.

Dampness drenches the crevices in the cavern walls. Moss and fungi hang. Darkness is the winding essence, cave like wombing; distant are the torches. Night unending here. I walk remembering--as each year in this my tenance, peni-tenance for my thought "UnSaved is freedom"; I walk and I repeat each word of rite, each remembrance that tomorrow, like that Final Morrow of each year's Dark Solstice Turning, I shall sing. Shall sing beside our Savior, help her frail small steps, to New Year's birth. That time may never again bring Second Birthing.

No, never! Not for we who will remember. Not for we who make, each year, Our Sacrifice. Not for we who Lockit, from birth, each Annaliese that she become our Ilse, Savior of the generations, bearing the golden-folded Stone of Purple in the Ancient Metal Lockit on her neck to glorify her days ("which are but nights") with Purple Light. With Glory Light from Earth's Second Birth, the Hallow that has made our world to glow with memories that teach us Peace and Right.

And here before me she lies. Our Annaliese-to-Be-Our-Ilse. I part the moss that curtains her, crawl on my knees past Silver thistles, all with Copper wrought around, to Her gilded bed. "Our girl child Ilse," I whisper, to this Annaliese now turned six. "Dear Ilse," I say, as each year I say, and stroke her cheek, "Beloved of our people, Glory of our generations, you who Save us." Shakily, with one finger, I touch her fevered brow. "Pray for us, now in your Hour. Child, hallowed be."

Only--I wipe my sweating hand on my muddy robe of white--today this child does not lie still, in silence lost to pain or terror's moans. Instead, she turns eyes, weak yet glowing, to mine. "Who are you? Why--?" she asks. Her voice unpracticed. "And what"--a tiny laugh, sweet lips curved up, comes bubbling--"what can mean 'outside'?" The tremory smile, aware the word's a joke, a joke, "There cannot be 'outside.'"

I laugh right back. For how can anyone, since Purple Blast of Right know what can mean "outside"?

And so this time I make no stroke nor cut; I simply hold the Girl Child Ilse, Savior of Our Generations, as she lies aglow, the Purple lockit to her neck, reminder there must never be a second Second Birth. I hold her, even in absorbence of the Purple light, and stroke her cheek and murmur, "Child, it will not hurt you;, it will bring you peace and stillness though not life," and long to take her fear into myself. I rock her fevered form as we wait now this New Year's 10,000th Saving from the Second Birth, and I shelter her, agleam in Purple Darkness--our Anneliese grown to Girl Child Ilse, who has only lived for Sacrifice.

"Glarglefreeb?"
"Yes."

"Glarglefreeb?"
"That's right."
"GLARGLEFREEB!?!" stammered Blatinatzerstingadopholus. "What kind of a name is that?"
"Well, it's short for Glargletrakinoidikrotzablatisfreebletwootz." Glarglefreeb stomped his/her podia and hissed. "Blame my petrie. Not one imaginative cartilage in their body."
"Can't argue with that," agreed Blatinatzerstingadopholus. "Anyones with that common a name like yours probably have an inferiority complex."
"Tell us about it," puffed Glarglefreeb, "We and the 1.2 trillion more with the same dull name." Mumbling, "Should have changed it when we turned 380."

"Anyway," Glarglefreeb's friends said, "just what were you doing?"
"Observing the krebitzsolarotz spots."
"And?"
"Well, Blatinatzersting--uh--"
"What?"
"Can we call you 'Blatz'?"
"Why not? Too small to spell--like 'Glarg--"
"We were viewing the krebitzsolarotz spots and found an anomaly."
"Anomaly?" Blatz asked.
"Almost missed it; we caught it on the corner of our stalk."
"We noticed your stalks were a little red," Blatz relayed. "Sure you don't need a new trifocal prescription?"
"Not to worry. Good for another century."
"'Come before you know it."

"As we were saying...," Glarglefreeb flatulated, "we were discussing the spots."
"Go on," Blatz fumed.
"We noticed the krebitzsolarotz spots during the broken ring."
The 'broken ring' that Glarglefreeb explained is when the yellow disc of the krebitzsolarotz aligns with the large ring of dust and rocks that encircle the planet. Every now and then when the star, ring, and world line up, the planet's shadow eclipses a portion of the ring, making a piece of it invisible, hence, a broken ring. It was estimated the amount of rubble contained in the ring around Gaia was enough to make it a fair-sized moon, but archives were sketchy before the last five millennia.

"You were looking at spots and not the broken ring?" Blatz asked.
"We were on the lit side of Gaia then,"Glarglefreeb explained, "measuring rubble sizes across the face of the star, and then noticed the spots."
"So was there something odd about the krebitzsolarotz spots?"
"No, the spots were fine."

Blatz flushed a frustrated blue. "We can never get a straight answer from you, for frabbing out loud! Erosion moves faster than you. Out with it."
"We found something floating in the ring," he/she said. "Something not natural."
"Oh, right," Blatz fussed, "'Something not natural', my punisumukakakashunk!"
"Now's not the time to discuss your shortcomings," Glarglefreeb aired, which at any other time, would have been a great one-liner.
"You gonna make jokes about my punis--"
"It's not natural," Glarglefreeb said. "We sent a probe to inspect it."

"What is it?" Blatz asked, forgetting the insult.
"It looks like a derelict. Possibly a space station."
"What's it doing in the ring?" Blatz queried.
"Don't know, but probe analysis points to it being in orbit long before the ring's formation. Possibly 10,000 revolutions."
"You're idiots."
"It takes two to know two."
"Fine," said Blatinatzerstingadopholus, "Anything inside?"
Glarglefreeb took a breath. "We believe it caused the ring."
"What are you saying that the thing is armed?" He/she couldn't fathom it.
"Our probe may have activated someth--"
A second krebitzsolarotz appeared in the sky for an instant, then fade.
"Oh, petrie," gasped Glargletrakinoidikrotzablatisfreebletwootz, "Look at that."
"And I just bought a membership to 'Gourmet Slug Recipes'."
They stomped their podia as the ring started to break up for real, watching rubble head their way.
"Well," said Blatz, "Glarglefreeb?"

Time; Year 12012 D-day plus ten minutes. The Allies turned the tables on aliens invading Middle Earth. They were storming the alien beaches, at the border of the alien home world.

Orcson Orc, the cook, rode in the back of the landing craft. He had friends among the combat troops and was nervous for them. They kept passing boats hung up on giant spikes aliens had put in the freezing ocean. Wreckage and floating bodies were everywhere. Despite this, the g uys were all raring to go. Some were brave; others just nuts. Many were orcs like him but there were elves, dwarfs, a troll and other things, like Marlox the Beorning.

Men were not included in the assault. They were too vulnerable to chest bursters and acid blood. Orcs could tolerate acid blood, and even brewed spicy liquor from it. Trolls were fully resistant to chest bursters. They could pull them out though their own noses with a special hook kept on their belt, next to the can opener. They'd roll up the chest burster, smoke it like a cigar.

Orcson had not planned to be in the first wave of attackers. He was a lover (of food), not a fighter. Once the tough guys in the combat squad had secured the beach at the base of the volcano he would join them with his pots and jars of spices.
Orcson had but one weapon ,his can of extra fiery hot peppers.

Whitey the elf unbuckled his sword and held it out. "Here, take this sword. Its name in the high elf tongue is "Yrkkriss" which means, ah, 'Orc-Slayer' or something to that effect. It glows when orcs are around."
Orcson took the handle and pulled the engraved blade an inch from its sheath. Proximity to Orcson made Yrkkriss glow blue along its sharp edges. "Well, there are plenty of times I want to kill orcs, like my annoying uncle Fred." He slid the blade back, and buckled it around his waist.

It was a splendid gift. Words of thanks were in order, in case he died and couldn't do it later. "The glow will be handy if I lose it at night, or my flashlight batteries are dead.

Something flew overhead, moving very fast. It was a formation of wizards wearing rings of power, riding giant eagles

The wizards became dots on the horizon. There was a flash, and a ball of fire like a miniature sun. It consumed the alien hive.Spreading over the explosion loomed the giant mushroom cloud which would haunt his dreams for years.

Orcson stared at the cloud rising over the vaporized Alien HQ. "War's over, I guess. Too bad they forged another set of rings. Must be the secret weapon we've heard about."
Whitey rummaged in the grenade pouch where he kept his pipe. The look on his face suggested he didn't care much for rings of power either.

Orcson unbuckled Yrkkriss. He brought it to Whitey. "Thanks for lending me your sword. It might be broken."
Whitey took it and stood there. Orcson felt he needed to add "The blade doesn't glow anymore. Too bad, it was a cool feature."

Whitey slid the gleaming blade an inch out of the scabbard and examined it. There was no blue glow. He slid it back and sighed. "I guess it likes orcs now. The sword belongs to you."

He handed it to Orcson. "The blade will glow when enemies are near. But we're all friends here."

The squad clustered excitedly around Orcson. "Hey Orcson", said Marlox, "you need to give Yrkkriss a new name. "'Orc Slayer' might upset your mom."

Joezulla raised his hand "I vote for 'Chop-a-saurus Rex'. That has a nice ring."
Orcson nodded. "It does indeed Joe, and I'd call it that, except I already chose a name.
He swept his sword out and held it aloft. Sunlight from that island between worlds blazed off the edge.

"Henceforth you shall be called-ARTIFACT!"

And that is how the legendary sword 'ARTIFACT' came unto the halls of Orcson Orc; goblin king under the Misty mountains.

"Yes, I will have the backroom special," Flirtus Charum told the impetuous server. He had come to this restaurant specifically. He, like many other connoisseurs, knew its reputation for strange and one of a kind delicacies.

"Will you be having the native wine with the meal?" the waiter asked.

"Yes, of course," Flirtus replied. This was getting tedious.

"And would you like the local fare sauce to cover the entre or as a separate side?"

"What have the previous diners done?" Flirtus asked.

"Well, Sir, it's been a mix, but most seem to prefer the sauce over the entre, leaving it to the Chef to cover it with the proper amount to enhance the flavor."

"Fine, fine," Flirtus replied, "covered then."

"As you know sir," the waiter said leaning in close and lowering his voice, "there will be a premium for that dish. It's the last serving tonight. Actually, it's the last serving ever, with the species now being extinct. We were just lucky enough to spot the raw carcass at the market." The waiter quickly looked over his shoulder.

"I expected as much. You can put a charge against my account," Flirtus replied.

"Oh, that's not wise,sir," the watier responded. "Traceabale, that. We would need a transfer in gold. Twelve bars to be exact."

Flirtus dropped his hors d'oeuvres into his wineglass. "Twelve bars?" He could buy a star cruiser with three bars. He felt his temper coming on, the businessman in him telling him to walk away, but the curious palate of a fine diner took control and he nodded, agreeing to the price.

"My ship is docked in the main station ring. Pier forty two," Flirtus said as he tapped out a message on his comm unit to the captain of his private yacht. "The captain will have the payment at the cargo door in ten minutes."

"Very good, sir, I will let the Chef know that the special is yours. Please, enjoy this bottle of Napoleonic brandy on the house."

Flirtus felt the wave of anxiety leave him over the cost of a single meal, but the 9500 year old brandy recently dug from a preservation vault under old New York should take the edge off the price.

He waited another thirty minutes and the waiter came to his table, drawing a curtain, separating him from the view of the other diners. "Dinner, sir, is served."

Flirtus watched as the covered silver serving dish was brought in. The platter was a good two arms lengths in size, which meant the entire animal was being brought to him. For him alone. He salivated at the prospect of the unique dining experience.

"Sir, please prepare for the most unique and individual dining experience in the galaxy. A one of a kind. prepared by our renowned chef to satisfy even the most discerning palate. I present to you a medium rare specimen covered in mushroom champagne sauce, stuffed with native citrus fruits. Enjoy this meal, the last of its kind. No other diner will be able to say that they ate the last human being in the universe."

Flirtus dug in and savored the meal. In the end, even though it was a unique experience, he had to admit, that human tasted like chicken.

"On."

The seasons flew by like the forest's leaves whipped in a gust, green in spring, or dry and dead-brown in summer, or dew-glazed and matchless from one leaf to another in autumn's infinite shades, or its bare twigs, limned in winter's dust, their unappreciated icy designs knew no end.

The forest remained untouched and left alone, save for the four seasons, and the two friends.

The two boys had been men four times over and then some since their first encounter. They had grown.

They had played and worked and vowed, fathered and grandfathered. When they used to run, they chose to walk, then took it slower which was just fine for them now.

Their jobs, other friends, enemies, and old family members came and went. Their sons and daughters from birth to play to work to careers, from happy to sad, light or dark, happened, too. Their kids had their own lives to live with spouses and sons and daughters of their own and followed the cycle of seasons.

Briefcases and bag lunches that came to the office with the two old chums were retired as well. Now that that was done, they had more time for the rake in the yard or to putt a golf ball around. More and more they relied on wisdom, many years-bred and so much greater in knowledge than their old academics--thimble-like by comparison now--their schooling fell to the footnotes in the chapters of their lives. They had grown even more.

It had grown on them as it always had--one couple at a time--and home they came with their wives to spend the rest of their days.

"Off."

"How long are you going to keep looking at that?" he asked.

"As long as I remember," his friend said.

"It's extinct; gone."

"Doesn't say much about us, does it?"

The two stared at the last whisps of photons as they faded in the dome's apex. Beyond it a sphere, once teeming with billions, hung in the blackness of space, as black and lifeless as the space around it.

"No."

The word hung there as the black orb did beyond.

"It doesn't".

"They ate animals, didn't they?" Mo yawned as he muttered, and stretched.

It was warm in the cave. Languidly, Sylvie curled up against his side. "My budsie," she purred.

He rubbed her cheek and yawned again. "Here, another?" he asked, holding up the last of the bones.

And hoping they were still safe to eat. Must've been lying here a good 10,000 Sol-go-rounds. All the flesh was long dissolved. And the--whatever those were, pieces of softness those Revered Ancestors once wore. Lordie, how big they had been! It was a mystery, another of the Once-ly puzzles. "In those days, we might live in tall palatial rooms of brick and wood and gilded chrome, but oh our minds were but as those of all those tiny, crawly, flying things we ate." He knew the rote well, Mo congratulated himself, scratching an itch on his neck. This cave was too old, and yet hard to leave: of the ancient bones there were many and plentiful, and farther in was that freezing space where, after clawing away some small patch of the ice, one might feast on both great lumps of flesh and the squared ancient blocks, full of strange tastes, that must have served these Revered Ones for food. Food of bird flesh, fishes, and all those other sacred tiny animals a sporting consciousness would never deign to taste. Again Mo yawned.

Stretching again, he stood and padded back into the cold depths of their cave.

As he stepped across the splintery, long-rotted threshold to the ice room, something pressed into the soft flesh of his foot, something slippery and hard; he jerked away. And watched it roll, small and somehow slick, into one of those Ancestor-made corners, and stop. He leaped to grasp it.

Frozen, this too, but different from any he had seen. He squeezed it, tore at the shiny cylinder, futilely, using teeth as well, tried to pull away the flatter sides. No odor came from it, no taste on those shiny surfaces at all. And only the shredded bits of something, far thinner and slighter yet reminiscent of the outside surface coating of those ancient blocks of tasty food, could be nibbled off. They were black upon red, these shreds, something horrific about them.

And under it all, now at last a smell--as of innards of tiny and sacrificed fish. Mo backed away, gagging, spitting them out.

"Hmmm?" Sylvie, half-awakened, padded up beside him. Together, they stared at the shreds, black upon red, on the cavern floor before them. "Sardine catfood," the bits of paper would have read.

Ah well, another close call, Mo thought, shoving his head against his beloved's warm fur. Life was full of dangers, not pampered as in ancient days.

Sylvie pressed back against against him, mewing and thrumming her purr.

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