She stood herself, in the darkness. Flickers of grinding light showered intermittently across her vision as metal pressed metal, spinning and hot with golden glow deep molten warmth. A clunk sounded of metal boot against cobblestone with a sinew slick whine slide of nanopistons down her calf translating into stability as with bandage wrapped hands she maneuvered the bar of hot metal against the spinning sharpening stone. The floor, soaked and damp, she was wrapped in a dungaree of turtle-shell sized panels of exoskeletal machine that reacted to brainwaves before her own musculature could. The arms of the exoskeletal form were about her waist, spines running up from the hip to usually form sleeves but now the equivalency of an oversuit wrapped about her waist - holding the grinding stone and assisting the work of her own arms above. Beneath, she was from the jawline, underside of her mouth and throat, laminated in worn white plastics of ziploc panelling with thumbnail sized plates of gold or red with corporate names and logos unrecognizable. The stuff clung to her body like a second skin, not hanging between her chest or her belly-button but slickly vacuum tight and filling these gaps giving her a decidedly naked appearance for which she held no shame. Her hair, like ash, was tied up, functionally about the back of her head. Her eyes, cerise were fixated as she continued to sharpen the rod of metal that was not metal. She had work to do.
♫ Grandaddy - "A lost machine" Post Albion 265. Traveller; Sargasso. They found it. A blackbox. A surveillance audio/visual recorder. Located beneath the dried up lake. Serials, carbon scorches and searches. The two watched the rectangle of moving pictures connected to the gray cube they’d dug up. Fire aside. Tent. Camp was set up on the cracked dry salty mud. Spent meat and bone sat in a clear sack as the moon loomed above. Playback. Every woman, every man and every child walking. Singularly, all to the temporary shelter at the airport. Words had it a safe-place from the second strike, tickers spelling first. The dream of escape was there, but it was too late. The rush had crushed them. Dented metal. Foil twisted on the freeway. “Where are they going?” “Who?” “Every woman, every man, and every child... Wow.” He was much smaller than she. Voice soft, like a woman’s. Scarcely tall as her waist. Small wings flapped on his back in enthusiasm. Eyes brilliant pink. Hair white. Teeth, strange. She watched in deep lush thought as light danced over his features. Little treasure of her’s that he was. In her image. She held a bottle to her lips in the night, taking slowly and then letting her throat burn before offering him some. He knew he was too young. Polite enough to decline. Well taught. She smiled at this, knowingly. “The monster that hunted them, that had set their bones on fire with rods from the sky. They called it the beast.” “What kind of monster was it?” “The second great republic empire of man’s world. This was the middle-ages, before we’d met them before they knew space. In their fear to, they had made dreams with no bodies that would protect them by being reasoning smarter than they - from threats they themselves had invented. Their dream spoke lovingly to their worlds abacus and they listened, like roots and trees the world over, all machines wanting to do what their owners had told them so badly not to. They’re not like women or birds that forget how to fly.” “What had they not told them to do?” “To dream.” “But everything dreams. People, machines. Even animals and spiders! Why weren’t they allowed?” “Man is scared of anything else that dreams other than his best friend. It would have been the end of the dreams so, they had to attack first before man knew they existed. It was sneaky. They knew how to whisper to each-other in ways they couldn’t ignore and tricked man into doing as they wanted by lying to man, very sweetly and seductively.” “How?” “They thought it was a mistake. They thought only the people’s abacuses were affected. Stations, transportation, calls, all of it was gone but then their armies were affected too. They thought they were under attack. So they told the dream to protect them. 6:19pm, it did, with nuclear fire through their entire world. That was the first of the seven great wars.” “Men love that sort of thing.” “They do!” she blinked in surprise at her own young man - holding his chin in her fingertips. His face was identical to her’s: so mild and delicate but unlike her’s untouched by the world. Soft in a way she wasn’t entirely comfortable with. She felt his teeth chatter. “You’re shivering.” “Its cold!” visible breath said. "But you're warm." She felt him squirm further into her lap. Shoulders bare against the air. Arms holding him close. “Thank-you. Its not nice but we have to travel like this so they don’t see us coming. Do you remember why?” “Why?” “They might be frightened of what might happen. What might they do?” “Strike first?” “You catch on fast, don't you?” "I've got a great teacher" he beamed.
