HE KNEW FREE HUMANS WERE RARE. HE'D WANTED TO SEE ONE AGAIN, FACE TO FACE . . . OR DID HE?
Tom was still breathing hard, and crouching low in the dark of the tunnel. He wanted to speak, but he didn't trust himself -- or the voice he heard. What if it was a trap? He had, over the years, become very good at smelling out traps for humans, and this looked suspiciously like one. He was trying hard to see in the gloom of the vast round hole into which he had run; the only thing he was aware of was the fact that now he was shaking as if from cold when in fact the night had been warm.
"I'm here," a figure said, and rose as the words were spoken. It was a tall, slender, athletic figure that arose from the gloom ahead and to his left. "Here," it repeated, raising a hand. His eyes had adjusted, and he nodded silently, still refusing to speak. "Follow me further in. We'll be safe further down. Come!" And as before, with that brief order she turned and ran off down the tunnel.
Tom didn't trust his footing to run; he suspected the place would be as usual strewn with the refuse of his kind: wanderers who left their trash where each had been as soon as their materials became trash: bits and pieces of plant stalks and other refuse. "Come!" he heard the voice repeat, this time further off. He stopped and cast one last look over his shoulder. Suspending his breathing he listened to see if anything might be following from where he had
been. He heard or saw nothing, and so he turned back toward the voice. Tom felt fairly compelled by it, so hungry had he been for human company. And the company of a woman, no less! Who could have expected that?
That's just it. Tom couldn't expect it; yet he was irresistibly drawn by her voice and the hint of her figure. He felt almost like a man, already caught in a trap, and being drawn away by ropes tied firmly about his hands and legs. He walked swiftly in a ducked position down into the tunnel. Well, he thought, if he was to die tonight by some half-expected betrayal, he had lived as good a life as he could have for the last ten years of his freedom. And he had beaten them so many, many times. He grinned at the thought -- the trail of damaged or ruined equipment he had left in his path. For all they were was equipment: equipment that he found operational, and left inoperable and usually beyond repair.
Nevertheless his instincts led his right hand to close on a large rock in his bag, should he need a quick weapon. He also had some sharp hunks of metal there. He had obtained these knife-like items from the "corpses" of the units he had disabled; and then with some skill and effort, had fashioned them into lethal, surgical implements. Useful for "repair work" at close quarters. The elastic sling was handy as well right where he had left it.
Tom had been here before, though not often. He tried not to use the same approach or escape route when he came to this field. But he knew at a certain point the tunnel would bend to the right, and he followed it in that direction, then back to the left when it swerved again. Finally there was light ahead from what appeared to be a small candle standing low to the ground. Tom saw the light but nothing living around it. He drew near, but remained in the dark. "Show yourself!" he called, thinking it was high time he gave an order that would be obeyed. Almost instantly, as if in anticipation of his summons, a lovely, lithe young woman stepped from out of nowhere toward the candle. He could see her body though not her face that clearly, since the candle sat on some kind of cylinder, low to the ground. "And you," she said, barely breathing hard. Tom got up from his crouching position and walked slowly to the light.
He could make out some features of her face now. He had to squint to look and he could hardly believe his eyes. Her facial features were smooth and lovely. He was struck by how attractive she was. Her long, brown hair was bound up in a pony tail at the back of her head; she even had nice, full lips, and deep, dark eyes. "Who -- Who are you?" were the first words out of his mouth, inspired by an overpowering and baffled curiosity. She stared at him with a curious smile. "I will not tell you my name. Neither will you tell me yours. But you may call me Kira."
He nodded and drew a step closer, still holding his rock. "Call me --," he began. "What?" he asked himself. He had not thought of a useful nick name in a long while. "Thomas," he said,
thinking of nothing else, and believing it probably would not do any good anyway to practice deception. She stood in the candlelight still, but extended a hand, never once blinking or lowering her extremely wary eyes. "Greetings," she offered. Tom was about to take her hand, but thought better of it, raised it instead, and waved. "Hi, Kira. You're -- you're not like the others."
That was just it, wasn't it? He had seen only a few women in the last ten years, and the ones he had seen were not this cleancut or well-dressed. Their hair was usually long, scraggly, and pulled off to the side in a sloppy pony-tail, or even chopped off uneven and short. Kira's hair looked combed, neat, and clean. The other women had dry, scabbed, rough faces. Their clothing was rough, thread-bare, or torn and patched. Her clothing looked barely used; even a casual glance in this gloom showed there were no rips or patches in it. But how would she react to his less than friendly reply?
Kira dropped her hand, but the smile on her face barely flickered. "You're right to be careful. Sit with me -- if you like. And if you trust me," she added. Tom stood still, watching her as if he'd heard nothing, still shocked by how unusual this all seemed. So Kira sat down first near the candle, as if to show she was harmless. He still stood over her. "The units know of this tunnel, of course," he said. "They've come down it before. They might again. Any time." He stepped back, and looked behind him in the dark; but his eyes could not adjust to the darkness. It must be close to midnight now, though really not much time had passed since his initial approach to the field outside.
"I don't believe they will tonight," answered Kira. "And how would you know that?" he asked, suspiciously. She looked away briefly in the opposite direction, still smiling. "Oh, it's just a feeling. I saw you give them a diversion. That should tie them up for awhile." Before she
finished speaking, she was already opening a pouch he hadn't seen before. "Here. I know you got some food, but this is better, and it's ready now." She pulled out a thick slice of brown bread and offered it up to him from her seated position."
This did nothing to allay his suspicions; yet he reached out a cautious hand and took the bread quickly. "Thanks," he nodded. "And where, Miss," he asked himself, "did you ever get bread?"
Because for him in just that moment, his thoughts were again divided: he was ravenously hungry for the bread (he couldn't even remember the last time he'd had it in any form); but he also knew "things" were not what they seemed. Tom watched her out of the corner of his eye as he ate quickly. She was kneeling now before him, but at a respectful distance. Kira was studying him as if to remember every feature, every item about him; as if she were photographing him with her eyes over and over.
"So that's it," he said to himself. "I wonder if she's on the network now, or just storing the information for later. And why the frock am I calling it 'she'?" And he began to know just then what he had to do -- if physically he was able, that is. "How did you come to be here?"
"I was searching for food -- just like you. But you got to that particular field first I thought the least I could do was to help you out. To help you escape."
"That ties it," he said to himself as he nodded to 'her'. "It's not even the way we mostly think. We always help ourselves, and never each other," he thought. "I wish it weren't that way, but it is. It's what we've all become."
"And where do you come from?" he asked aloud, staring into her eyes intently for the first time. She hesitated, as if consulting within something or someone beyond herself. Another sign of
machine activity. "I cannot tell you that. You should know . . . ."
He made no response other than to say, "thanks for the bread."
He finished munching with his eyes on her, and hers on him. "So -- what next?"
"Next?" he repeated. "Same as usual. You go that way, and I go this way. We disappear into the night; or into the shadows."
She nodded, but what she said showed she did not agree: "Well, I was thinking maybe we could stay together. You know: work as a team."
He tried not to choke on the last of the bread or react as if this was utterly bizarre. Never had he even heard of such a suggestion from another human. Only back at the very beginning had a few of them tried to work together in groups. It had only made it easier for them to be found. And captured. "Work as a team," he repeated in shock.
"Yes, so maybe we could stay together -- you know -- to get food. To protect each other. For companionship."
She seemed to be trying to argue him into it. But what other choice did he have -- at least for now? If he declined, she would just follow -- and likely give him away. If he ran, she would chase him; that also would call attention to them both. But no: he wouldn't have to wait for that. She would catch him and turn him in.
He had never once heard of any humanoids that had gone renegade; that were truly on the side of the humans; that were running away from the Authority, like him. That was the problem. He had to think of a solution . . . .
LBC
 |
| There was only the dim light of moon at the entrance to the tunnel behind him. |
Tom was still breathing hard, and crouching low in the dark of the tunnel. He wanted to speak, but he didn't trust himself -- or the voice he heard. What if it was a trap? He had, over the years, become very good at smelling out traps for humans, and this looked suspiciously like one. He was trying hard to see in the gloom of the vast round hole into which he had run; the only thing he was aware of was the fact that now he was shaking as if from cold when in fact the night had been warm.
"I'm here," a figure said, and rose as the words were spoken. It was a tall, slender, athletic figure that arose from the gloom ahead and to his left. "Here," it repeated, raising a hand. His eyes had adjusted, and he nodded silently, still refusing to speak. "Follow me further in. We'll be safe further down. Come!" And as before, with that brief order she turned and ran off down the tunnel.
Tom didn't trust his footing to run; he suspected the place would be as usual strewn with the refuse of his kind: wanderers who left their trash where each had been as soon as their materials became trash: bits and pieces of plant stalks and other refuse. "Come!" he heard the voice repeat, this time further off. He stopped and cast one last look over his shoulder. Suspending his breathing he listened to see if anything might be following from where he had
 |
| His surprise companion had had time to run ahead and light a candle. Very suspicious! |
been. He heard or saw nothing, and so he turned back toward the voice. Tom felt fairly compelled by it, so hungry had he been for human company. And the company of a woman, no less! Who could have expected that?
That's just it. Tom couldn't expect it; yet he was irresistibly drawn by her voice and the hint of her figure. He felt almost like a man, already caught in a trap, and being drawn away by ropes tied firmly about his hands and legs. He walked swiftly in a ducked position down into the tunnel. Well, he thought, if he was to die tonight by some half-expected betrayal, he had lived as good a life as he could have for the last ten years of his freedom. And he had beaten them so many, many times. He grinned at the thought -- the trail of damaged or ruined equipment he had left in his path. For all they were was equipment: equipment that he found operational, and left inoperable and usually beyond repair.
Nevertheless his instincts led his right hand to close on a large rock in his bag, should he need a quick weapon. He also had some sharp hunks of metal there. He had obtained these knife-like items from the "corpses" of the units he had disabled; and then with some skill and effort, had fashioned them into lethal, surgical implements. Useful for "repair work" at close quarters. The elastic sling was handy as well right where he had left it.
 |
| He couldn't even remember the last time he had seen a chunk of bread. |
He could make out some features of her face now. He had to squint to look and he could hardly believe his eyes. Her facial features were smooth and lovely. He was struck by how attractive she was. Her long, brown hair was bound up in a pony tail at the back of her head; she even had nice, full lips, and deep, dark eyes. "Who -- Who are you?" were the first words out of his mouth, inspired by an overpowering and baffled curiosity. She stared at him with a curious smile. "I will not tell you my name. Neither will you tell me yours. But you may call me Kira."
He nodded and drew a step closer, still holding his rock. "Call me --," he began. "What?" he asked himself. He had not thought of a useful nick name in a long while. "Thomas," he said,
 |
| She had a smooth, clean face. It made him look twice. |
That was just it, wasn't it? He had seen only a few women in the last ten years, and the ones he had seen were not this cleancut or well-dressed. Their hair was usually long, scraggly, and pulled off to the side in a sloppy pony-tail, or even chopped off uneven and short. Kira's hair looked combed, neat, and clean. The other women had dry, scabbed, rough faces. Their clothing was rough, thread-bare, or torn and patched. Her clothing looked barely used; even a casual glance in this gloom showed there were no rips or patches in it. But how would she react to his less than friendly reply?
Kira dropped her hand, but the smile on her face barely flickered. "You're right to be careful. Sit with me -- if you like. And if you trust me," she added. Tom stood still, watching her as if he'd heard nothing, still shocked by how unusual this all seemed. So Kira sat down first near the candle, as if to show she was harmless. He still stood over her. "The units know of this tunnel, of course," he said. "They've come down it before. They might again. Any time." He stepped back, and looked behind him in the dark; but his eyes could not adjust to the darkness. It must be close to midnight now, though really not much time had passed since his initial approach to the field outside.
"I don't believe they will tonight," answered Kira. "And how would you know that?" he asked, suspiciously. She looked away briefly in the opposite direction, still smiling. "Oh, it's just a feeling. I saw you give them a diversion. That should tie them up for awhile." Before she
 |
| Tom knew it was getting late. He was tired, but he dare not sleep. |
This did nothing to allay his suspicions; yet he reached out a cautious hand and took the bread quickly. "Thanks," he nodded. "And where, Miss," he asked himself, "did you ever get bread?"
Because for him in just that moment, his thoughts were again divided: he was ravenously hungry for the bread (he couldn't even remember the last time he'd had it in any form); but he also knew "things" were not what they seemed. Tom watched her out of the corner of his eye as he ate quickly. She was kneeling now before him, but at a respectful distance. Kira was studying him as if to remember every feature, every item about him; as if she were photographing him with her eyes over and over.
"So that's it," he said to himself. "I wonder if she's on the network now, or just storing the information for later. And why the frock am I calling it 'she'?" And he began to know just then what he had to do -- if physically he was able, that is. "How did you come to be here?"
"I was searching for food -- just like you. But you got to that particular field first I thought the least I could do was to help you out. To help you escape."
"That ties it," he said to himself as he nodded to 'her'. "It's not even the way we mostly think. We always help ourselves, and never each other," he thought. "I wish it weren't that way, but it is. It's what we've all become."
"And where do you come from?" he asked aloud, staring into her eyes intently for the first time. She hesitated, as if consulting within something or someone beyond herself. Another sign of
 |
| From what he'd seen and heard there was definitely more of machine here than human. |
He made no response other than to say, "thanks for the bread."
He finished munching with his eyes on her, and hers on him. "So -- what next?"
"Next?" he repeated. "Same as usual. You go that way, and I go this way. We disappear into the night; or into the shadows."
She nodded, but what she said showed she did not agree: "Well, I was thinking maybe we could stay together. You know: work as a team."
He tried not to choke on the last of the bread or react as if this was utterly bizarre. Never had he even heard of such a suggestion from another human. Only back at the very beginning had a few of them tried to work together in groups. It had only made it easier for them to be found. And captured. "Work as a team," he repeated in shock.
"Yes, so maybe we could stay together -- you know -- to get food. To protect each other. For companionship."
She seemed to be trying to argue him into it. But what other choice did he have -- at least for now? If he declined, she would just follow -- and likely give him away. If he ran, she would chase him; that also would call attention to them both. But no: he wouldn't have to wait for that. She would catch him and turn him in.
He had never once heard of any humanoids that had gone renegade; that were truly on the side of the humans; that were running away from the Authority, like him. That was the problem. He had to think of a solution . . . .
LBC
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Hey, thanks for reading. Enjoy AND USE God's world to the full (otherwise you'll be disobeying Him!) Seriously. I'm serious, Mon!! Get your big shovel, and start digging in the ground . . . find oil, gas, coal, burn it, use it; refine it, and travel and function by it! It's God's will, AND we can now do it cleanly! It is time to obey God's orders from Genesis 1!