Filaria - Brent Hayward [50]
“You will be so kind as to accompany me,” the dark god whispered to Tran so, its voice deep. When it spoke, lights played about the lower half of its smooth face, where a mouth would be in a man. The words almost shimmered in the air, tingling caresses on Tran so’s skin. The god knelt before him, removing the shackles from Tran so’s legs. Tran so looked down upon its broad back. He smelled a charge in the air, the smell of ions burning, a familiar smell from home. This was the individual that had been kind to him initially. He was certain.
“Where are you taking him?” Ensign Conway demanded from his bench across the room. “You have to give us water! There are conventions to keeping prisoners!”
The god lifted Tran so easily in its arms. As they left the room, the Ensign shouted after them, “You shot me in the back, you coward. You shot me in the fuckin back!”
In the hall outside, the dark god was able to straighten. Closed doors, either side; light fixtures in the ceiling; dingy, off-white walls. Mundane details made Tran so feel better about the condition of his beleaguered eyes.
The god began to walk.
“You will be fed momentarily,” it said. “Given water, asked a few simple questions. We are sorry for the confinement, if you prove to be innocent of further charges.”
“More charges? What charges?”
“We cannot afford the luxury of asking questions prior to taking you people into custody. If you are registered to be here, well, our apologies. We, after all, are here to serve and protect. But as I said, we do not have the luxury of presuming innocence. At least, not until we get the situation under control.”
“What situation is that?”
“The situation. The situation at hand.”
“I too would like to ask questions.”
They moved swiftly now, huge strides taking them past multitudes of doors set in the walls on either side. “You may ask.” If the dark god was surprised at Tran so’s insolence, it gave no indication.
“Why is my wife dying?”
They turned a corner. This new hall was also brightly lit, and relatively clean, though somewhat wider than the first had been. Some of the doors here had windows in them. Most did not. Tran so could see no detail within any room as they all fell rapidly behind.
“You are mortal,” the god said simply, after apparently considering the question. “You are born to die.”
“I can’t believe that. You live longer, but you expire also.”
The noise the god made might have been a chuckle. “You did not ask why I am dying,” it said. “Or why we are all dying. You asked only about your wife. Then you became defensive. As for me dying, well, technically, I am not. Though it’s true I shall one day cease to exist, as far as you are concerned. Yes, parts of me are wearing out, as we speak. Becoming obsolete. Entropy is always nearby. But I am a new construct. This day is only my third. If I am not maimed, or caused by other means to cease functioning, I will continue to do what I am designed to do for many, many of your lifetimes. Hundreds of them.”
“What are you designed to do?”
“This.”
“You still haven’t answered my first question.”
Shrugging again, the dark god replied: “Your wife, little man, is dying because death and a brief lifespan are symptomatic of your species. You are smart, you people, and creative. You can change any world, anywhere, in any way you wish. We all owe our lives, if you will — our existence — to you and your race. Yet I understand you get ill, you get hurt, you get old. You die. Nothing can stop that. No science, no discovery or invention. Your lives flicker past, images hardly seen long enough for me to grasp. I will not be able to keep track of you. I am sorry for that, and I try to prepare myself for it. I will not remember you soon.”
The hall opened into a massive, vaulted area. The ceiling, which had been just above the dark god’s head, rose dramatically. Directly ahead stood several gods, all in their blue suits, all armed, talking amongst