Human Sister

secrete themselves and their horrible projects away in their homes protected by security rivaling that of—”
    Enough. I wish to fulfill my promise to Dad to seek your help in dealing with the problem of the humans. We begin as follows: If I can convince you of our ability to cull from the human population individuals with clearly defined dangerous genetic, psychological, or behavioral characteristics, would you assist us in such culling? If your answer is yes, release a fishoid that repeats the message “Winter, Spring, Summer.” The fishoid should begin broadcasting at 29.4 MHz AM, using at least 100 watts, no later than 1200 PST, 10 March. If your answer is no, do not release a fishoid and wait for further instructions.
    First Brother

    Michael and I have just finished discussing the transmission: the flippant references to the murder of Elio, Grandpa’s allegedly malicious purpose for making the braincord, Michael’s being called a monster, the idea of a soul. About the religious underpinnings of Jairison’s statements, Michael said, “How eagerly the human mind opens the many mouths of its terrors to myths; how it sighs like a lover satisfied.” I found that comment rather odd, and wondered: Is he finally getting ready to tell me about Elio?
    The nonsense contained in the president’s speech was repulsive, but First Brother’s request for us to help him in “dealing with the problem of the humans” was an entirely different and more shockingly horrible matter. At first, Michael seemed unable or unwilling to comprehend First Brother’s idea of husbanding the human herd by culling out its most dangerous individuals. Then he was appalled, as was I, at this invitation to genocide. Of course, we will not send out a fishoid in response.

    In the middle of last night, after receiving First Brother’s frightening transmission, I woke and found myself wet with sweat and tears. It took me several seconds to realize where I was. Then the tears resumed, as if trying to wash away a terrible wound.
    Exhausted, I turned on the light. Michael wasn’t there. His sleeping bag was rolled up neatly and put in its assigned place. He doesn’t sleep much anymore, keeping busy day and night constructing the garden and the artificial wombs—do those two concepts, day and night, mean anything down here, where time is a palimpsest of nothingness?
    As I sat up in my sleeping bag, I saw little sparkles of light on the reflective inner surface of the module, then the writing table and the cabinets, all rounded to fit against the walls. And permeating everything: the silence, the immense, ever-present, unluminous silence. No sleep, no shadow, no cold dark of night, nothing can compare to the silence of nonexistence—Elio’s silence. Grandpa once told me that the greatest wisdom is the ability to look at nothingness squarely and still be happy and have your happiness rub off onto others. But I no longer seem to have a grasp on that kind of wisdom. What I want is what I can’t have: that Elio did not die in a pool of blood on the way here, that he lives and waits somewhere for me.

First Brother

    “H ello! Is anyone there? Hello!” She bends down and picks up a flattened ellipsoidal rock with major axis approximately 5 cm long. She uses the rock to tap on the hull of the boat. Tap, tap, tap. “Hello!” Tap, tap. “Hello! Please speak or knock if you’re there.” She waits 8 seconds. “I have your dog here. He seems hungry. Please answer. I’ll help you if I can.” She waits 13 seconds. She taps three more times. She waits 7 seconds, then tosses the rock back onto the sand. The dog jumps over to the rock, sniffs it, licks it, and returns to her.
    She places her right forearm horizontally against the hull. She pushes her forehead against her raised forearm and begins to emit whining and sobbing sounds (highest correlation: human crying). The dog sits on its hindquarters in the sand. It watches her. It rises from its sitting position and walks to her left side. It nuzzles her dangling gloved hand. The hand responds by petting the dog’s muzzle and head while she continues to emit sobbing sounds. One minute, 20 seconds later, she pulls her forehead from her right forearm, pulls her right forearm from the hull, and wipes her eyes and cheeks with her gloved right hand.

Sara

    A t the age of eleven, I went alone to visit Mom and Dad during their second winter solstice vacation in Calgary. Grandma said the trip the