A Midday Storm

Archive 1103
Author: Unknown
Title: “Journal”, also, “Excerpt from the summer months”
Recovery Location: Aphexis
Date: 2344

I did not mean for the woman to cry, though I suppose there was little else to expect. When I shucked the body of her son and walked out of the hut, I heard sobbing in the background, big great baleful gasps interspersed with wheezing. She screamed at me and I sighed. How could I mollify her? I could not communicate with any of the illuminate. To them we were apparently jumbled brains entire, little more than soft and clever flesh wearing their figures. The sun-star poured down on me and its bland warmth made me itch.

The village had one entrance and exit by foot, a short dirt path that skimmed a mountainside and was lined with huts. In the doorways and windows were faces and standing bodies, some neutral but most bubbling with hatred. I gave a small thanks to technology. If I had been wearing anything other than the suit, I would have been tortured and rendered piecemeal before nightfall. They would sever and cut and burn and strangle and inflict all the horrors that retribution wants. But the suit was telling – I was immune to them. It was the perfect preparation, and most importantly, if I was taken, they would follow. To kill me was a zero-sum approach, one lesson that the illuminate learned early. A pair of boys ran by and hissed at me through missing teeth, and my interface lit up with a little holographic image of an old woman’s face.

“Did you find him?”
“I did.”
“We’ve been over this before –“
“Which means you know the answer.”
“I see. You’re still solid.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“You said that two years ago.”
“And I wasn’t lying then, either.”
“Whatever. When we have the next coordinates, we’ll let you know.” Her face flickered away. I had nothing to say to her which hadn’t already spilled out before.

My profession was publicly announced. What I did at least nominally was no real secret among those I knew, though specifics were only known to the person and the contractor, and it otherwise held a spot of romance amongst most people. We were “saving the colonies”. It had marked me and yet, when a stranger met me in person and heard of this, there was usually a series of questions which tried to verify the fact. That very night a woman overheard some others talking at the bar.
“You’re him?”
“I am indeed that dastardly soul.”
“No way. You’re like, nice.”
“Like, I know.”
“Kind of an asshole though.”
“Kind of duh. So, why don’t you believe it?”
“You’re really funny! I don’t know of any funny people like that.”
“Do you know any serious people like that? I mean, do you know any people at all like that except for me?”
“You’re not bad.”
“Well, I disagree in that I’m a pretty manly fellow, but more seriously, yes, I am him. Check on your interface if you don’t think it.”
“Okay.” A few seconds later. “No way. Is that you?”
“That is me.”
“And you do that?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Huh. Keep talking, badass.”
“Yes ma’am.”

The woman that night proved fruitful, and though we did not multiply, we gave each other high marks for the effort. She left in the morning, swollen and with a smile. Instead of saying or screaming my name she had called me “badass” all throughout the night. It made me laugh, and she liked that. We parted on equally serious terms. If I’m ever around again, she said.

Many had no idea what to do with me. At some points they were as genial and accepting as an enamored stranger, eager to take in whatever I had to offer. Other times they were quiet, and not simply from mood. There is a fundamental construction in perceiving the world that a great deal of people cannot change. For them the world is easy, defined, comfortably generalized into solid footholds of dichotomy, like good and evil. Serious threats to these niceties are vigorously scraped away, and if the problem persists, time will do the cleaning job they could not. They see me, thinking of what I do for one reason or another, and a great conflict arises in what they believe until the sweet release of some erstwhile distraction. A news report. A rumor. Sometimes even a loud noise. That I tried to be honest and thoughtful when not making jokes did not particularly help the situation.

The lulls between jobs had become more tedious. I spent the next few days walking around our little forested colony town of Ember, singing to myself or reading on my interface or whatever struck my fancy. I was largely drawn to sitting and thinking, which is evidence enough for a change of pace and pursuit. After five days without incident, I called up the old woman.
“Yes?”
“It’s time.”
“You want a wipe? I was won-“
“No. I’m done. I’ll be leaving in one month. You probably want a replacement.”
“You can’t.”
“I can.”
“Well…” she sighed. “What do you propose I do?”
“Your job.”
“But who else can do it? Every else has –“
“I’m aware.”
“And…”
“And nothing. Thirty days. Let me know of coordinates up until then.”
“How will they –“
“If you stop asking me questions and start looking, maybe I’ll have time to show the recruit what goes on.”
I disconnected, only to have her reappear instantly.
“Coordinates. And someone was apparently on the wait-list, qualified well above the others. He’ll join you when you go.”
“Okay.”

Another few days passed in a sort of comatose lull before the recruit, Raft, arrived. This was somewhat dangerous, but most cases for shucking never started metastasis until a few weeks after a report. Raft was younger than me by about ten years. His dress was Spartan and he had a limp that made him wobble ever so slightly. The smile on his face was somewhat relieving.

“So I hear this job is… interesting.” I guffawed at this.
“Yes, it’s full of bunnies, you know, the furry Earth creatures. And everyone gets lollipops, oh, the joy and interest involved is practically without equal!”
“Are you always sarcastic?”
“I’m always something. Consider my words less a declaration of character at this point and more of a test for you. I am curious, after all.”
“About what?”
“You know what we’re going to do, right?”
“I think so.”
“And you know the ‘fallout’ rate, correct?”
“I heard some things…”
“Well, you get to find out soon enough. You have the coordinates. You have a suit?”
“Yeah.”
“Off we go then.”

The location was nearly on the opposite side of the planet. The shuttle that shot us there was an old merchant vessel and Raft looked vaguely uncomfortable throughout the ride, leaving a few times for the restroom. He smiled, though, when I looked at him. We arrived without fanfare to the wintry half of the world. With less of an axial tilt than Earth, though, the seasons were not as pronounced and winter was more like a weak fall. Considerable snowfall was only known in the higher elevations. On the landing pad he gave one great big stretch and said,
“I love hotels. I call the kingsize.”
“Sure.”

The next day we suited up and moved out for the four-hour hike. The flora and fauna still had seasonal changes, and most of the underbrush was withered and bare. He seemed to be in good shape, and his face betrayed nothing save determination. Raft turned and spoke about a half an hour in.
“How long have you been here?”
“Two years.”
“Two? That’s not so bad.”
“I guess.” I coughed. “How about you? Where were you before this?”
“You didn’t check to profile?”
“There are lots of places that a residency of ‘spacer’ allows.”
“Oh. I thought you got the employment rap too.”
“Nope.”
“I worked for a mining company out along the Kuiper belt.”
“Any fun?” He laughed at this.
“Fun’s not the right word. How about… satisfactory.”
“Reasonable, although mining definitely isn’t my thing. And as for this job?”
“It looked like it needed to be done.” I paused for a moment before replying.
“That’s it?”
“Well… I guess. I could go on the neuronet and mimic some philosophical words if you like.”
“No, that’s alright. Why did you do mining?”
“For the money.”
“Yet you dropped it in favor of a job that pays nothing.”
“Well, I got the money. Now I don’t need it.”
“I should warn you that this, uh, duty is something a little more emotionally straining than, say, being a data indexer. Or a guy that watches robots perpetually pull rock out of rock.”
“I figured. What, you don’t think my reason is reason enough?”
“Absolutely not. I am, however, trying to get you to empathize with your future self. Preparation. Anticipation.”
“Well, it’s not like I haven’t seen some bad stuff.”
“Have you shucked anyone lately? Or seen it done?”
“I’ve seen it.”
“And do you think that compares with actually pulling the lever?”
“No. Hey, how did you end up doing it? You sound like you have some high-and-mightier approach to this.” I smiled.
“Less a declaration of character, more a test. I want to see your confidence. And how much, if at all, you’ve done that kind of ‘personal exploration’. Or maybe I’m just bored. It’s probably that.”
“Kind of a weird way to interact with people.”
“Apologies. Didn’t sleep last night. You have any idea how long you plan to do this?”
“Not really.”
“Hmm.”

We were relatively silent for the rest of the walk. He made a few soliloquies about the corporate situation, about dissolving governments and the AI and human transcendence, but all I could muster was a “Yep” or an “Uh huh”. His talk was tiring, eager but effectless, like some political sloganeer intent on forcing an opinion down my throat. Some of it was at least observationally correct. I just wanted to be off the planet. The trees were creaking from a small southerly wind and a few squeaky animal noises could be heard in the distance. As we approached the village, he seemed to tense.
“These suits are good, right?”
“Good in what sense? Like, can you eat them for fiber?”
“No, I mean –“
“I know what you mean. Relax. We’ve yet to see an illuminate, let alone shuck one. They know very well what these suits mean, though whether they know why these suits exist outside of diabolical myth is somewhat of a flowering question.”
“Okay. Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it.”

The village was as all the others. We were seen and through the resonance illuminates had, each and every one knew instantly that a pair of suits had arrived. That there were two suits, in my estimation, made little difference. People arrived at their doors and windows. Hatred. It no longer bothered me. Raft seemed unperturbed.
“I saw videos of welcoming parties. I guess it was too much to ask for some banners.” I stared at him. “Okay, okay.”

The hut was in a little dimple of the valley, bent towards a small pond ringed with ice. Woods of mauve and burnt sienna hung beside it. I entered the little shack and two of the people, a man and a woman, began screaming. The boy, progressed beyond anything I had seen before, was supine and comatose. Raft walked up and punched the man in the face.
“Feels good. I wouldn’t do it if it wasn’t right.”
“If you say so.” I motioned toward the boy. He stared at me for a moment. I like to delude myself, every so often, than in these twisting moments there is something like realization in someone else, however slight and obscure. When I see that I pause I naturally think of myself and how, in a self-same situation, I had realized my interest on this planet, the extent and exceptions to my empathy, and the job I was going to do free of its romantic tassels. But there is only a moment to speak of, brief and effortless. Not a lifetime. My loneliness often considers, if from nothing other than boredom, that other people are equally capable of seeing where such a path may lead. Raft nodded without affectation and proceeded. Advanced-stage candidates were generally more violent to shuck than the new ones.

Raft’s work was hasty but deliberate and considerably overdone: I got the feeling he had practiced or had prior experience, which was somewhat unnerving. The woman stared at Raft, gasping for air, and when the shucking really took place and the boy began to wail, she fainted. The man meanwhile had recovered some, though he stumbled around and nearly fell back down after seeing the boy. Raft stood from the body after about a half an hour later and laughed.
“Not a big problem.”
“If you say so.”

We walked out and back in silence, the wind howling about our heads. The sky was overcast, grey and washed. Our suits were temperature monitored but my limbs were cold nonetheless. The last time we spoke Raft stared at me for a moment before speaking.
“So, you think I can handle this?”
“Sure.”
“I mean, you had me worried that this was going to be something horrible.” I stared back at him for a moment.
“Yeah.”

We took the shuttle and I slept through most of the ride. I woke a few minutes after we had landed. Raft was already gone. I started communication with the old woman.
“He off to the job?”
“Yeah, we had another set of coordinates pop up.”
“Well, okay then. I’m leaving.”
“What do you think of him?” I sighed, paused, sniffed, and finally managed to speak.
“I think he’ll get popped on his tenth time, if he stays for that long. He’s got a knack for that reputation.”
“Why?”
“Just expect some collateral.”
“I don’t understand why you don’t do it.”
“I have other things to do.”
“You know you can handle it.”
“Because that’s all I need, right? Knowledge that I can handle it?”
“I hope your future is bright.” She said, annoyed.
“See you in hell too.”

The next day I was gone and out. On the shuttle out I watched the landscape recede, two years recede, horrors recede, I watched some indescribable aggregate of memory shimmer and dim amongst the darkling void. There was no judgment but that of necessity, of a “job well done” which the old woman begrudgingly offered up. Later I found love and a home. Later I found myself happier, discontented but positively so, clear in at least in one goal, and where no illuminate would ever be. The past did not haunt me. I wondered idly about the memories, like a curious boy watching endless raindrops on glass, thinking how they might disappear and drift to the sky, only to fall to the ground again.