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How Lonely People Make This Life

The Preservation of Something Beautiful

By Meredith LeePublished 2 years ago Updated 2 years ago 25 min read
2

Arun resettles his weight away from the mecha leg, and winces as the hardware pulls at his thigh. He knows he’s going to be aching by the time he gets back home. He tilts his head and adjusts his hood, holding the vial of pills up to the light. He wishes for the thousandth time that he had become a doctor, or a chemist, or something more useful to him now than an Officer of Forestry and, worse, a deserter.

“It’s the real deal, sonny, Payette yams, lab tested an’ all. You buying, or not?”

Arun slips the tabs back into their bottle, and considers his options. “Which lab?”

“I look like a coat to you, sailor? It’s the real deal, and I’ve got real customers waiting to buy. Pay up, or get out, don’t make no difference to me.”

Arun raises an eyebrow at her clearly empty stall, but pays the woman anyway. He can't actually tell the difference between genuine bio-T capsules and powdered talc. Better to take his chances than to go without, and he knows he won’t have time to stop again before Washington. They had spent the best part of the afternoon sailing from Yamhill Bay to the peninsula, and it would take another three days to follow the Columbia Inlet out to sea.

This was life that Arun had missed, during the landlocked years of his enlistment; skimming the oil-slick rainbow surface of familiar waters, solar panels tracking the devastation of the sun, with canvas sails unfurled to billow and swell in the wind.

He makes his way quickly down the boardwalk, eager to leave Oregon City behind and return to his family. The bio-T is carefully tucked into his bag alongside the rations he had bartered and the few gears he found suitable for tweaking Emma’s hardware. Once, before he and Behn had started life on the run, he hadn’t wasted a moment's thought on whether the testosterone he was prescribed was legitimate or not. Regulation issued testosterone, along with a full reproductive ablation, were just some of the benefits of being raised as an orphan in the New Cascadia Survivalist Forces.

Arun had received the best of medical care available, right up until the day that he and Behn had fled the shadow of the mountains, bound for the sea.

“iBlock, X23, X27, never been used! You, sir, you look like a man in need of some levity.” The merchant who reaches for Arun gestures broadly to the vintage gadgets and tech that surround him. “Take a look at these beauties, generation X, solar wiring, never been used!”

“Not interested.” Arun pulls his arm away and moves on, picking up his staggered pace.

The man’s voice fades behind him as Arun turns a corner, lifting his hungry gaze toward the water that stretches beyond the stacked and wedged apartments of the city on the hill.

“Chempulse?” A skinny teen whispers as he passes, furtively glancing over his shoulder, and down the filthy alley behind them.

Arun hesitates, unsure if the kid is selling or buying, and not knowing which is worse. Judging by his age, he must be a refugee, smuggled into New Cascadia in secret, or on a much coveted Sanctuary Pass. All that, just to end up in an alley, hooked on or hawking Chempulse in the streets.

“Sorry.” Arun shakes his head and watches the kid slip into the throng, pausing briefly by varying figures to whisper the desperate query. He considers going after him, to at least press some rations into his hands, but the familiar sight of two Survivalist Officers has him pulling his cowl up higher, and moving down the street with the pull of the crowd.

This is why he hates to venture from Marion. It’s nothing as bad as the interior Reformed States of America, but the press and heat of the city still leaves him on edge and feeling trapped. Too many bodies in one place makes the anguish almost palpable. The air drifts thickly around him as he moves, sitting heavy and damp with the emotion of the city; dark, claustrophobic, and stifling in its need.

The Marion shines like a beacon at the edge of the harbor, a rugged 45 foot ketch that moves gently with the lapping tide. Arun releases the tension from his shoulders for the first time in hours as he double checks the moorings, and boards her roughly hewn deck with relief.

________________

Behn wakes up with an easy smile, and watches him start to unpack their new supplies.

“Looks like a big shopping day. How’s land?”

“The same as it always is,” Arun grunts as he carries a crate of batteries to the corner, and kneels to redistribute the weight of the contents. “Dirty, noisy, and sad.”

“Well,” Behn laughs, watching him work, “don’t hold back, handsome, tell me how you really feel.”

“Shut up,” Arun huffs with a smile. It’s easy to banter on days like this. Coming back home, no matter how short the time away, is like a balm on Arun’s soul. “I said what I meant, I hate it out there.”

“Yeah, I know. You’d never leave the water if you could swing it.” Behn’s voice is fond. “I’d be stuck pulling barnacles from your beard, and chipping your rusted boots from the deck if it were up to you.”

“It is up to me,” Arun continues to work, ignoring the undertone of tension he can’t quite suppress. “And my beard is fairing just fine, thanks for asking.” They both know that Behn couldn’t do any of the work he teases about, that he couldn’t even cross the deck if he wanted to, much less wield a tool. Arun has given up on trying to decide if Behn’s brand of occasionally dark humor is blameful, intentionally wielded as a challenge, or just his positive way of coping with all they had lost. As long as Behn could find the means to smile, Arun would try to do the same.

“Emma go with you?” Behn looks around the cabin, and Arun realizes with a start that he hadn’t seen their little lady since he got home..

“Emma?” He stands on tiptoes to peer into the crack in the beam, stifling the thrill of fear that lurches inside him.

Wh-Whoo, Wh-Whoo

Her echoing hoot is quiet and content, and he sighs in relief as she swivels her head to blink slowly from the dark and cozy recess.

“She’s here. Just napping, the lazy tot.”

“Well, bring her out!” Behn laughs and reaches his arms toward them, making grabby hands with his slender fingers. “Papa wants to say hello too.”

Arun grins and reaches one hand inside to gently scoop her from her nest, mindful of her talons and wings.

She’s petite for an owl. When he had found her, her wings had been tattered, crushed in the fall of the tree that housed her. The months he had spent crafting and testing suitable alloys, and painstakingly redistributing the weight of torch blown and thinly hammered feathers, were a testament to the patience of them all.

Hardware was something Arun had mastered over time, from repairs on his own leg, to pulling every trick in the book to keep Marion in motion, but this kind of delicate work took so much more than he had bargained for. Over time, the little bird grew healthy, and put on enough weight to try her new harness and hardware. As far as Arun was concerned, the real healing had come from Behn, who had spent as many hours a day as his energy allowed, calling encouragement across the cabin, and pressing Arun to feed her treats. Together, they taught her how to hop-fly around their home with her new mecha lease on life.

Now, she is strong and powerful, kept full by rodents from the boat and land, and spends most of her days blinking lazily in her roost above the hammock. Behn still loves to sweet-talk her.

Arun is gentle as he sets Emma down on the table between them, and he revels in her beauty as she flexes the muscles beneath her shiny wings, stretching them out to catch the last rays of sunlight that spear from the open hatch above them.

“There’s my good girl,” Behn croons.

Who-Wh-Whoo, Who-Whoo!

Emma launches from the table and up to the hatch, perching for a moment above them to twist her head as she scans the wharf. She is gone the next instant, sweeping off into the burgeoning night to seek her breakfast.

“And there she goes.” Behn huffs in amused disappointment. “Remind me why we thought the wings were a good idea?”

“Don’t be mean,” Arun laughs as he climbs the ladder to keep an eye out for her return and steps into the dying light of evening with a smile.

________________

They reach the Seattle Islands in record time, and Arun feels suddenly like he made the wrong decision, bringing them here. They dock at one of the smaller islands for the night, wary as always of the wharf patrols and crowds.

“Maybe I shouldn’t take her there,” he mutters, scratching wearily at his arms in the hot evening air.

“Take her where?”

Arun sighs, realizing he hadn’t reminded Behn today of the reason for their trip.

“The letter I got,” he waves the paper from across the room, “from some fancy professor at the wildlife preserve, here in Washington. She wants to meet Emma.”

“How did she find out about her?” Behn looks wary, and flicks his eyes up to the nest where Emma sleeps safely above them.

“Torehn,” Arun grunts in annoyance. “Who else? I guess this Doctor Mjurehn has put out the word for rare birds to be brought around for photos. I figured we could learn what we can from them, maybe something that could do her good in the long run, if she ever gets sick or something? I’m just not sure.” He doesn’t specify his concerns. He knows that Behn won’t remember this conversation by tomorrow, and Arun isn’t even sure that he could put the feeling into words.

“Well. We’re here, guess we might as well see what she has to offer.” Behn sounds as uncertain as Arun feels, but that’s no surprise. Arun looks at him, wading through the lingering silence as Behn’s face remains unchanged and undaunted by his persistent stare. He purposefully relaxes his pensive expression and watches Behn do the same, completely unaware of the tension that has closed around them.

Arun looks up to Emma’s nest, and wonders briefly if she gets too hot in there these days. Would he recognize the signs if she ever got sick? Would he know how to help her? Doctor Mjurehn would know.

The light flickers in the room as he leans back heavily in his chair.

"Uh oh. I know that look." Behn frowns through the dust motes that litter the air between them. "What's wrong?"

"Behn, we just talked about it,” Arun sighs, suddenly exhausted. “Nevermind, nothing. Nothing is wrong."

“Talk to me again, maybe I can help? Did you get a letter?” He gestures to the paper in Arun’s hand.

"Damnit, Behn, I don't want to do this right now. Please, can you leave it?"

The sudden quiet is accusing, and he knows Behn is watching him as he stares at the soft feathers on the floor.

"Arun?" Behn calls from across the room.

He wants to ignore him, but can’t, and is suddenly ashamed of the physical distance he sometimes keeps between them.

"What."

"Let's go for a walk?"

The clench inside his ribs is sharp, and sudden. He can feel the back of his throat close up as twenty years of memories overwhelm him.

He remembers brazenly admiring the stretch of lean legs that had scaled the hillsides faster and surer than Arun ever could. The bright, clever spark of Behn’s eyes as they read stolen books in the craggy arms of their favorite oak. The toss of curling hair on the wind, whipped around his sunburnt face as he turned to laugh. How it had felt to be touched by his strong, calloused hands, encompassing and warm as they traced the tension of their bodies moving powerfully together. It had all started with furtive smiles in the fields, secret appreciation from the tree line, and, finally, a quiet offer from Behn; Let’s go for a walk?

They had spent months at a time working themselves ragged, hoarding their leave like food rations until they could abandon the patrol, and the harvest, to spend days on end just walking, exploring the land. Whenever they couldn’t get away, they sustained each other with love notes and tender, humble gifts of fresh fruit, and delicately carved acorns, tucked away in sacred hiding places in the woods. They married quietly, for no reason other than to protect the privacy of what they shared. All they had ever wanted was to be together, alone, and away from all of the crowded oppression of the world. The farmer and the forester, one with each other and at odds with only what stood in their way.

The years had passed slowly, and their retreats had taken on the form of a mission; the loving and secret crafting of Marion, and the tentative dream of a free life on the water together. Each approved leave became a speedy trek across the hills, back to the water’s edge of Haven, and the safety of the private dock that Torehn had secured for them. By the time Marion had rested on her own, sleek, proud, and water ready, fifteen long years had passed them by. And then, in one terrifying night, everything had changed.

How long has it been, now, since they last walked together?

Arun struggles to swallow his emotion as he stands. "Okay, love. Let's go for a walk." Slowly, gently, he lifts Behn and carries him up the ladder, one careful step at a time, into the warm and dark cover of night.

They stand in place together, turning in tiny circles on the deck, and Arun imagines that he can see mysterious stars winking above them, from far beyond the ever present haze of wildfire smoke and pollution.

________________

"Oh, splendid. Beautiful bird, just look at her."

Arun stifles a swell of pride as the doctor fawns over Emma, but even so shifts on his feet. “Look. I’m starting to not like this, you understand? We came here to get information, and to let you see her, but I don’t know what you need all of this for.” He waves a hand vaguely at the medical instruments around them, and looks hard into Mjurehn’s eyes.

“The barn owl,” Mjurehn continues, unbothered, “was once prodigious in our country. Common, even, if such a word should be used to describe her.” She gestures for Arun to take Emma up, quickly unlocking a side door and leading them down a wide corridor.

“At first, it was rat poison,” she calls over her shoulder. “Generations ago, when the waters had first begun to rise, there was a great influx of rodents from the larger cities, and the countryside was overrun. The close quarters of the following years, and the build up of quarantine zones, all filled with rot and ruin, led to the worst plague of rodents the world had seen since the Middle Ages.”

Arun is familiar with the story. History vids showed the gradual loss of all the major coastlines, and the increasing panic and congestion inland as great metropolises had slipped slowly into the unyielding grasp of the sea.

The doctor continues to narrate as she brings them around a corner, and through another locked door.

“The resulting practice of spreading rat poison in every barn, field, and ship had poisoned thousands of species, by direct consumption, or, as was the case of the barn owl, by contaminating their main source of food. By the time some semblance of oversight was restored, the damage was already done.”

They stop in front of a large arch of curtains that fill the wall in a tower of cascading fabric, and Doctor Mjurehn slowly pulls the curtains to one side.

“Beyond that,” she continues, a bit breathless now, “they suffer the systematic destruction of their habitats, as the forests have been, and continue to be, torn from the ground around them.”

“I know, I’ve seen it.” Arun murmurs guiltily.

The curtains pull away to reveal a massive glass dome that teems with life; sectioned by towering walls of thick wire fencing, each wedge in the circle is a perfect miniature habitat that presses against the observation glass in a kaleidoscope of foliage, insects, and creeping moss. There are pine trees, and oaks, and here and there a bright-shirted scientist walks the pathways that curve throughout the enclosures.

“How is this possible?” Arun gasps. “You have owls here?”

Mjurehn’s smile is broad, her pride and love evident in her expression. “We have forty-seven of the great Tyto Alba, fourteen of which are owlets. Which is where our dear Emma comes into question.”

Arun tenses. “You want to keep her here.” He doesn’t question, because he can already see by the desperate gleam in Mjurehn’s eyes that he’s right.

“She is needed here, Arun. We have twenty two adult males, but only nine healthy females.”

“No.” He shakes his head immediately and turns on his heel to walk, steadying Emma with one hand as she shifts in surprise. “You think I’m going to hand her over to, what, service a bunch of sex starved birds, are you insane?”

“Arun, wait, listen to me. One of the beautiful things about these birds is that, when they find a mate, they often mate for life. Do you understand?” Mjurehn wheezes as she rushes to catch up, grabbing at Arun’s sleeve in desperation. “They court one another, give gifts, and live and die alongside each other. I’m not talking about cattle breeding, damnit, I’m talking about lonely, affectionate animals who need each other to survive!”

Arun stops short.

“She will be happy, Arun. She will be cared for with the best that science and medicine has to offer, and she will be with her own kind, as she was meant to be. I can’t begin to know what she means to you, but…” she trails off delicately, clearly searching for the right thing to say, “could you really be so selfish as to keep her from this? On a boat, Arun, for the duration of a short and limited life?”

Arun swallows against the unexpected pain in his throat, and strides out through the open door.

“I’ll think about it,” he calls over his shoulder, refusing to look back.

________________

Arun drops hard to the floor of the cabin as he wakes, his hammock swinging wildly above him. He scrambles in the dark for the remote, cursing his shaking hands as he turns the dial and watches light flood the room.

“Shit, Arun, what happened?” Behn is panicked, jerking his eyes from Arun’s face to the locked hatch of the cabin, clearly confused.

“A dream,” Arun heaves with difficulty. “Just another dream. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Hey, shhh, it’s okay.” Behn comforts as best he can, and Arun curls up into a ball beside him to wait for the tremors to subside.

Arun thinks back through the many long nights like this, and the dark sleeps that left him shaken and unsure of what was real. He thinks back to what started it all, that night when everything had gone so wrong.

‘Don’t go without me.’ Behn had whispered, as he reached out to touch Arun from where he lay across the bloody table. ‘Don’t you dare.’

The doctor who had taken them in that night had pulled the boot from Arun’s shattered leg, jostling him roughly. Arun had ignored it, he remembers, wanting to focus his fading strength on Behn as the darkness had pressed in from all sides.

‘I won’t.’ He thinks he whispered in return.

When he had woken up, the room had been flooded with daylight. He had sat up groggily, hand to his head as he tried to sort out what was wrong. Something metallic caught his eye, glinting in the sun, and he found himself staring stupidly down at his body, horrified and numb.

His leg was gone, cut off and mecha capped at the end of his thigh. The protrusion of fuses and ports scratched against the table as he moved suddenly, flipping sideways to look for Behn. The sigh of relief was painful as it punched from his lungs; Behn was still there, stretched out next to him on the other table.

His familiar, well worn clothes were still torn to shreds, and soaked in blood, but he lay relaxed, hand outstretched by Arun, bridging the gap between them. Something about his stillness caught Arun’s eye, and the world narrowed suddenly in a spiral of focused panic.

There was no hardware on him. There were no fresh bandages. He lay unnaturally still, without even the gentlest rise and fall of his bloodied chest. The realization that crashed through Arun left his ears ringing in the sudden silence. The doctor hadn’t even tried to save Behn.

"Stow it!” Dirty, bloody hands scrabbled at Arun’s mouth. “You'll bring every patrol for miles, shut up!" They pressed him back to the table, stifling his lungs until a vision of black and red overtook him.

Arun had limped out on one foot the next day, bolstered by a wooden crutch under his shoulder, with Behn’s memory chip in a holo-stand, wrapped tightly and carefully inside his shirt.

By the time he had struggled his way across the Eastern fields for the final time, and onto the Marion once more, he had cried the last of the tears his body was willing to give.

Arun almost thinks he could cry again now, if he gave himself permission. He continues to tremble as the darker memories fade away, and the terror of the nightmare releases its grip slowly.

Everything is falling apart again, and he doesn’t have the strength left to stop it. The loss of web access had decimated Behn’s short term memory capacity, leaving them four years into facing a soft reset every time he powered down, or fell into sleep mode. Emma had been a brand new fixture in their lives then, and she’s still Behn’s first excited focus when Arun rouses him each day.

"Why am I still here, Behn? Can you tell me?" Arun knows that it's maudlin to ask him, of all people, but the fog of indecision and loneliness is too much to face on his own tonight.

"Because, you love our home on the water. It’s all we ever wanted, to be alone together, away from it all."

"But now I'm just alone, alone.” He brushes his bare foot against the end of the table that Behn rests on, held carefully in place by a magnetic frame. “You aren't really here anymore."

“Yeah,” Behn huffs a laugh, “I’m aware." The smirk on his lips makes Arun’s stomach spasm in a cramp of sudden longing. He almost sounds like himself; clever and sarcastic at the most inappropriate times.

A Web Adaptive Replicated Entity. A literal shadow of who he was, he flickers over the table in a play of colorful lights, canvassing his burnished skin and deep set eyes above the cheap holo-stand. Arun finds himself searching Behn’s face as always, for some sign of a soul, some deeper consciousness, despite knowing that he’ll never see it again.

"But wherever I am, the original me?” Behn continues, his eyes unresponsive as they take Arun in. “Probably not any happier than this version."

"How can you be sure?" he sighs, limping back to heave himself into the swinging bed as Behn’s camera whirls to track his movements. "Oblivion could be nice. Or, maybe, you’re in some kind of cloud paradise, like the Separate folk preach."

"I’m sure, because this is where you are." His face tightens around the stubborn set of his brow, and his tone is suddenly heavy with emotion as his algorithms jump to the memory of another time and place. "Don’t go without me. Don’t yo–”

Arun twists the dial in his hand without thinking, shutting the holo-stand down before the words can finish.

________________

“Hey, pretty girl, what’s new?” Behn latches onto Emma as soon as his programming reboots, his lusterless eyes crinkling as he smiles. He doesn’t remember their last conversation, or their walk on the deck the night before that.

“Emma and I went on an adventure yesterday. Saw the Seattle Islands, went ashore near Wedgewood. Met a new friend."

Their connection amazes Arun, and he can hardly believe that they never met in person. Despite never having been held, or fed, or warmed by Behn's large, gentle hands, Emma knows that there is safety and companionship in the lilt of his voice, and she knows that the voice comes from the small disk she dances over now. How can Arun separate them?

But Arun pushes himself into the long and painful explanation of Mjurehn’s offer, describing the observation room and sparing no detail as he recounts the doctor’s promises and what the sanctuary holds for Emma. He tries to remain impartial, knowing that, computer algorithm or not, it’s Behn’s decision to make.

“We should let her go.” Behn’s voice is quiet, but sure. It’s rare to hear him volunteer an opinion independently.

“Nothing will be left in another hundred years, it's all ending.” Arun makes one final attempt to convince himself, although he can feel the decision already locking into place. “Why can't we just stay here, the three of us together, and let it all slip away?"

"Something of life will be left. Maybe not you, clearly not me, and maybe not one single human being. But, Arun, something will be here. Does it really have to be just death, and trash, and devastation? Shouldn't we leave behind the best of what we have left?"

Arun watches balefully as phantom fingers float to the edge of Emma's back, the lights of Behn’s hand concentrating around her legs as they're blocked by her sleek undercarriage. "Don't you think that Emma's great-great-grand babies would be the best?"

His assessing eyes flicker as Arun chokes out a confusing laugh, more of a groan than a happy sound.

"You're right." Arun doesn't want to, but he smiles, and Behn’s blank, searching expression morphs immediately to match the new mood, pulling from downloaded memories for the appropriate reaction. "You're always right. They'd be the absolute best."

It was decided then.

He doesn’t know what difference it will make, but Arun feels like he has to tell him, at least this once. “Behn. She won’t be here, the next time you wake up. You know that, right?”

Behn nods, drifting his hand lovingly around her huddled and drowsy head. “But she’ll be safe, and happy, with others like her.”

“But you won’t remember that, love. And you and I, we’ll have this conversation over, and over again, but she’ll already be gone. Promise me,” he struggles through the murmur of words, “please. Promise you’ll forgive me?”

Behn looks surprised. “Don’t be a moron,” he chides affectionately. “Forgive you for what?”

“For taking Emma away from you. For any stupid thing I ever did that hurt you. For…” He shrugs helplessly as the crest of emotion rises inside him, and he can feel his face crumple under the pull of grief, finally slipping free. “For losing you? And for hating you, because you left me. How could you go? You left me behind, alone, in this fucking nightmare, and now I can’t…how can I ever…” He’s crying, heaving strangled breaths as he braces his hands on the table and lowers himself to the paint chipped wood below.

“Oh, Arun. You sweet, brave, kind-hearted man. I love you. I'd forgive you for anything, and everything, but you don’t need it.” Arun can see the bright dance of Behn’s light through his eyelids. He tries to imagine that he can feel the field-worked caress of Behn’s hands, wiping his tears away. “This is just life on planet earth, baby. It’s all just part of life. I love you. We did everything we could. I love you.”

Behn continues to murmur sweetly from the speaker below Arun’s shaking shoulders, repeating every word of comfort compiled from their years together, as Arun finally breaks to pieces under the watchful eyes of his family. He weeps, caught in the rigor of sudden and all encompassing despair, and he doesn’t know how to stop. “Behn, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry...”

“Arun, you sweet, brave, kind-hearted ma–” The words slip into a loop, back to the beginning as Behn’s cache is depleted. Arun shuts down the holo-stand. He slumps to the floor in sobs, pressing fists to his aching eyes, and shudders painfully under the weight of the darkness that descends.

________________

The morning comes quickly, in hazy leaps of time, and Arun finds himself back in the wildlife preserve without much memory of getting there. He kisses Emma goodbye on her downy face, uncaring as she pecks him harshly in return. Doctor Mjurehn watches from a distance with a sad smile of understanding.

“Goodbye, little love. Be happy, for us?”

Who-Wh-Whoo, Tu-Whoo!

She hoots loudly, and he eats up every last look he can get as he shifts her carefully over to her new handler.

“You are our very best, Emma,” he whispers as she is carried away. He can feel a line of moisture track down to his beard, and he’s not sure if it’s blood from her parting bite, or the slow slide of tears. “Make something beautiful to leave behind."

transhumanism
2

About the Creator

Meredith Lee

Meredith Lee is a Queer fiction writer from the Pacific North West who loves to read and write Horror, Sci-Fi, Fantasy, and LGBTQIA+ inclusive fiction. they/them/theirs

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