Filaria - Brent Hayward [95]
Deidre chose to ignore the disturbing implications of this. “I still don’t understand. Where did they all go?”
“Who?”
“Everybody. My ancestors. Obviously, they must’ve been able to tie their shoes at one point.”
After a moment, the voice replied: “Most of the people passed away. Fewer and fewer viable children. Ruination of the habitat. That sort of thing. Same old story. A few escaped. But the point is Deidre, humanity left behind a refuge. Buried under the surface, in a forgotten resort, of all places, they left behind a genetic gold mine.”
“Why did you get angels to make the hole? Why didn’t you do it yourself?”
“Angels?”
“The things that came in for me.”
“Angels? That’s an interesting name for them . . . Regardless, the question is another excellent one. And the answer is, in fact, quite simple. I have no hands, Deidre. At least, not here. Not now. You see, after discovering the underground trove, as it were, we seeded the planet from afar with these terminals, hundreds of programs, just like me, and we released, on a probe, the buds that eventually attached themselves to the, uh, angels, for training purposes. But, physically, my hands exist elsewhere. Elsewhen. All we could do is wait for their signal, and get ready to activate the seed terminal that they brought you to.
“Angels are common here. They’re able, with the proper amount of coaxing, to perform menial tasks. So they became our hands . . . Though I must say, I don’t know what took them so long once they had broken through. We were frantic with concern. We thought we’d miss the window of opportunity.”
“They built a nest.”
“What? A nest?”
She looked away, into the trees, wondering if they were real or if she only imagined them to look like trees. “What are you planning to do to me?”
“Liberate you, Deidre! Destiny has deemed that we shall soon meet. In a mere two days, we shall be here — for a moment, against all odds, together, in time and in physical space. We’ll meet, my dear. We’ll meet. We’re coming to collect you.”
Impossible to ignore the undertone this time. Even the strange sun above her had suddenly chilled. “You let me out of here,” she said. “You let me go home.”
“I can’t do that, Deidre.”
The gram depicting her world crackled and vanished, only to reappear, for a second, clear and defined before fading again to a blur.
“I can’t release you. Discovering you has assured our future, Deidre. The future of our species. We need you. You’ll never know what you mean to us. To our future. As humans. You are the savior of our race.”
Tears stung Deidre’s eyes. She turned her head. “You can’t be human. Please. Let me out of here. Let me see my family again. I’ll do anything . . .”
“I’m so sorry to make you sad, Deidre.”
After a long while, she asked, “Why me?”
“Luck,” said the voice. “And I’m also sorry if the beasts have hurt you; they shall be reprimanded for those scars on your shoulder. They shall fly these barren skies no longer. Is that solace to you?”
“No.” Weeping now, she understood that what was behind the voice was more frightening than the angels. By far. She wiped her tears away angrily. “It’s not fair! I want to go back home! I want you to put me back inside! I demand it!”
“Please stop crying. Please. If I could hug you, I would. Perhaps you would like to get back onto the bed for a while? A small round of, uh, of larvae, of moth larvae, to lessen your pain? You did rise from the sickbed rather quickly — ”
“No.” Deidre looked around again; in the atmosphere of menace, the trees appeared suddenly sterile and so unmoving compared to those of Elegia. She thought for a second about poor Sam, and about the dead boy, and she wondered what it would be like to die twice, or to exist without really having ever lived. Sam had wanted life. The boy, too, had wanted life. She wanted it also.
But as she lifted her eyes skyward,