From her vantage point at Lookout Hill #3, Beverly can see Rojelio, one hand gripping a stone tipped spear, peeking out from behind a large rock on Lookout Hill #1 towards an access road leading to camp. Enemy activity was spotted earlier. It’s a hundred and fifteen degrees and sweat drips from under a red rag tied around his forehead. Although sixty, if he’s a day, Rojelio still has rock hard abs and an alert stance of a much younger person. Nevertheless, he is too short, too muscular, too tan skinned and far, far too old to “pass” as a MONOMORPH. He is clearly an ANCIENT (Ancestor Not in Compliance Inspiring Escape & Nonconformance Treason) a NON-MONOMORPH, an enemy of THE STATE.
As always, when Beverly watches Rojelio, something stirs deep within her body where her vestigial sex organs lie. Those sensations, while pleasurable, embarrass her though she knows they are not visible to others. Self-consciously she pulls her turmeric yellow rose print sheet tighter around her lower body and shifts her gaze.
As if sensing withdrawal, Rojelio glances back towards camp. Signaling an “all clear” to Beverly, he allows himself a moment to appreciate how her black skin glistens beneath her swirl of gray flecked dreadlocks. Her mature, rounded form, so unlike that of a MONOMORPH, includes prominent vestigial breast organs. And, though he knows they’re non-functional, he allows himself to briefly wonder how they might feel before turning back to monitoring camp access roadways.
All remains quiet. Good. Perhaps later he and other male-identifiers will hunt small prey together while Beverly and other female-identifiers forage edible roots, leaves and berries. With luck and blessings of their Gods, everyone will be full tonight.
Rojelio reflects on how good this camp site has been for their Band. Nearby streams provide precious water and abundant fish. Nuts, berries and edible greens are plentiful. Temporarily suspending their migrations, they have occupied this site for longer than normal. If only they can elude their relentless MONOMORPH pursuers, perhaps they can linger here a bit longer. Of course, they must continue to keep their outside presence fleeting and sheltered under trees and rock formations so as not to alert MONOMORPH aircrafts passing overhead – even though those vessels are outfitted for intergalactic travel and unlikely to engage in Search & Destroy missions which are typically performed by MONOMORPH Foot Soldiers.
Noon emerges from her dwelling cave carrying plastic containers of water for nearby sentries. As white as Beverly is black, Noon cannot tolerate much sunlight and sees better in darkness than light. She is most active at night conducting torchlight scavenging missions to uncover relics of past civilizations which have traveled thru time from before Earth’s technology ban went into effect for everyone except MONOMORPH leaders who assumed oligarchic galactic control sometime after Earth’s last Worldwide Revolution. Noon’s moonlight discoveries are sometimes useful, like these plastic containers, and other times merely beautiful or interesting. She keeps careful track of exactly where, and how far below ground, she finds these artifacts because she is a Band Historian. It is her job to reconstruct evidence of prior Earth civilizations – knowledge of which gets passed down thru generations by way of oral story telling traditions. Noon understands many symbols found on ancient relics utilizing skills passed down from her ancestors. Other bands have members with this skill and they sometimes communicate with one another by leaving markings on cave walls for others who may come along to occupy a camp site they have vacated. Noon also understands relative values of gold coins and jewelry — valuable because they are worn ornamentally as well as being used for bartering with other bands of ANCIENTS encountered during endless migratory wanderings necessary to elude MONOMORPH pursuers.
With her white hair, pale skin, tiny, slender body and huge grey eyes, Noon could almost pass as a MONOMORPH. Except there are no MONOMORPHS over age twenty-one. Noon’s delicate skin folds would be, literally, a “dead” giveaway. “Dead” because twenty-one is the mandated expiration date for MONOMORPHS and all MONOMORPH Citizens are ceremonially euthanized at age twenty-one. NON-MONOMORPHS, of course, regardless of whether they are DIMORPHS or, like Beverly and Rojelio, something in between, are outlaws condemned to execution on site regardless of age. In theory, then, there should be no one on Planet Earth over the age of twenty-one.
Noon’s Hearth Partner, Thor, pops out of their cave moments after Noon. A bag of glass chips sparkles brightly from within a small plastic sac hanging from a twisted vine belt encircling his massive, muscular waist. Thor is Fire Maker and utilizes found glass artifacts in relighting fires used for light, warmth and food preparation. His value to their band is great as constant migration necessitates frequent restarting of fires.
Although endless movement along hidden migratory routs is difficult, occupying permanent campsites or crumbling ruins of dwellings remaining from earlier Earth civilizations is far too dangerous. Those are the first places MONOMORPH scouting parties raid when moving through an area on an extermination mission.
Besides possessing useful survivalist skills, Noon and Thor are revered within their own Band, and other bands, because, as sexual DIMORPHS, they possess a rare ability to produce new life without complex medical apparatus and procedures utilized in state-sanctioned, asexual, MONOMORPH cloning conducted in huge laboratories of distant space stations. Together Thor & Noon have already produced two young Band members (Clita and Dongk) who, although below the twenty-one-year termination age, would be instantly slaughtered if caught by MONOMORPHS. Besides violating phenotypical appearance guidelines both demonstrate personality traits typically associated with sexual DIMORPHS. Dongk loves to make spearheads and often tags after Rojelio and other Male-Identifiers on hunting expeditions. Clita is shy and prefers to hover near a hearth assisting with blending nuts, leaves, berries and roots into meals shared by Band members. Because Dongk and/or Cltia may eventually prove to possess, now highly-illegal, sexually-based reproductive capabilities, they are extremely valuable to Band Society. Paired with similarly endowed members of other Bands, they may be instrumental in resurrecting nearly extinct forms of human life not dependent upon tyrannical MONORMORPH scientists and rulers. This possibility makes them enormously dangerous to MONOMORPH Society. ANCIENTS will do anything to protect those like Clita and Dongk just as MONOMORPHS will do anything to eradicate them. They must remain hidden most times.
Rojelio gestures a soundless signal of alert to Beverly as a large contingent of MONOMORPHS passes along well-traveled roads in a valley far below his observation post. His watch is ending but he remains in place eyes locked on their procession as it snakes along a winding pathway which runs right past hidden trails leading towards camp. Although they are moving right past it, these MONOMORPHS seem unaware. As their first contingent passes this juncture, Rojelio’s apprehension diminishes. He knows MONOMORPHS are bred to follow. No individual is likely to break ranks or strike out in independent investigation. As is usually true of MONOMORPHS, this battalion marches in lively lockstep, forward facing, heels flexed, arms swinging stiffly in unison. Sunlight glints off their curved-back purple & gray body armor giving them an appearance, Rojelio observes with a small smile, of giant beetles. Whatever their reasons for being here, they apparently do not include searching surrounding caves for ANCIENTS. Still, he reasons, it pays to remain observant at all times.
After enough time has passed to assure MONOMORPH battalions have moved on, Rojelio prepares to yield his post to relief Sentry, Ivan, due any moment. Suddenly a flash of movement in a patch of scrub brush below, probably a small animal he thinks, catches his attention. Scrambling downward, Rojelio approaches the spot, spear overhead, anticipating adding some meat to Band food supplies. Checking cautiously behind a large bush he is shocked to see two huge gray eyes gazing up at him impassively from within a stiff purple and grey shell.
Rojelio’s jaw falls open. He has never, before, been this close to a MONOMORPH. Judging from its size, this one is not quite fully grown. A steady stream of purplish liquid oozing from its right ankle suggests it may also be injured – apparently victim of one of Noon’s numerous scavenged metal animal traps.
As he squats to look closer a twig snaps behind him. “Aah, Rojelio, and what have we here,” Ivan appears behind him, speaking in his distinctive deep voice tinged with what might once have been called an Eastern European accent, one corner of his full upper lip raised in a slight sneer.
“I have never seen one up close before, have you” Rojelio asks rising up to stand between Ivan and the MONOMORPH.
“Close/far, the only good MONOMORPH is a dead MONOMORPH, true?” Ivan snorts. “Do you think we can make a food from it?”
Rojelio regards Ivan steadily and then reaches out slowly to examine the MONOMORPH’s right ankle. Thru a gaping hole, assorted wires and sensory devices are visible. A chunk of metallic material projecting outside the ankle is wedged firmly into Noon’s trap. He looks back towards Ivan. Rojelio has never really liked Ivan, a male-identifier who acts as if they are still living life as they’ve been told it was lived at the dawn of human civilization and again — much later during chaotic times immediately before and after, Earth’s Final Worldwide Revolution — before MONOMORPHS took over control of Earth and Milky Way Galaxy. Of course, Ivan would behave this way. With his bulging muscular excess, large head, symmetrical features and carefully tended curly hair and beard he looks exactly like those olden-time warriors pictured in human history books Noon has salvaged and shown them. He even makes his Cave Mate, Sonia, beat found metal objects into large round plates which he straps on, with animal skin strips, like body armor. Yet Ivan is not all about show. He is Premier Hunter of their Band. Where others, like Rojelio, hunt out of necessity, Ivan exalts in tracking and killing. He never returns to camp empty handed. He is valuable yet feared by many Band members who secretly disapprove when they see Sonia’s frequent unexplained body marks bearing silent witness to Ivan’s unpredictable temper and penchant for brute force.
As he works to release the MONOMORPH from Noon’s trap, Rojelio’s thoughts drift back to stories told of ancient times when brute force ruled the world. He remembers sitting, as a young child, transfixed as Band Oral Historians recited tales of Mankind’s so called “Early Times,” “Middle Times” and “End Times.” Thru these stories, Rojelio learned of civilizations before Earth’s Worldwide Revolution and of human life on Earth before MONOMORPHS rose to power.
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It was said that during both “Early Times” and “Worldwide Revolution Times” men like Ivan ruled Earth relying upon their superior strength and physical prowess to establish leadership. Females, back then, were valued mainly for beauty and child-bearing abilities and were often owned and exchanged between powerful males who treated them like possessions.
During “Middle Times,” Rojelio’s favorite historical period, there was greater gender equality and mental skills triumphed over brute force. Machines performed physically demanding chores. Humans lived in great, tall dwellings – remnants of which band members saw from time to time, in various states of demolishment, as they migrated across Earth’s surface. Technology was not limited, in those days, to a ruling elite. Ordinary people could see and speak to each other from opposite sides of the world on tiny communication devices. Most people were trained to interpret symbols the way only Noon, and her kind, could now. Knowledge was prized and it was during “Middle Times,” humans undertook their first space explorations of the Milky Way Galaxy — now serving as home to lavish space-estates of MONOMORPH leaders as well as MONOMORPH Cloning laboratories. But, of course, all that was back before Earth’s Final Worldwide Revolution resulted in elimination of much of Earth’s Human population. It was before many humans, especially elders, were separated from their property, herded into interment camps, known as “nursing homes,” and, ultimately, exterminated.
Earth’s Worldwide Revolution did not happen overnight. There were early warning signs for those observant and clear-headed enough to see. As far back as Early Twenty-First Century, frightening social changes emerged. Scientists and Philosophers tried to call attention to issues increasingly affecting not only Earth’s inhabitants but the very existence of planet Earth, itself.
Humankind, teetering on the brink of multiple global disasters, entered a period of “retro-evolution.” Organized political and legal systems weakened and failed — unable to reconcile bitterly warring factions within societies across the world: Haves vrs. have nots, believers vrs. non-believers, blacks vrs. whites, women vrs. men. Angry protesters flooded streets worldwide. Mob rule reigned.
From America’s, so called, “gangbangers,” to third-world religious extremists and ideological fanatics, young men rose up demanding their “fair share” of Earth’s material goods and pleasures. Powerful elders – doctors, lawyers, politicians, scientists, philosophers, business executives and intellectuals, were vilified. Power reverted to physically strong, young men and attractive, fertile women. Symbols of achievement (apart from those displayed by professional athletes or certain favored musical artists) were denounced. Police, military and others charged with maintaining public order were targeted, ambushed and eradicated. Following the institution of restrictive gun laws, only criminals possessed firearms. They used these along with cars, planes, trains and bombs to subdue law abiding citizens. Elderly men and women, babies and young children were caught in violent crossfire — slaughtered in random public knife attacks or simply beaten down by muscular young thugs who roamed the streets in gangs. There was no place to hide. People were shot to death thru the walls of their own kitchens and bedrooms, slaughtered at prayer in their Churches and Mosques, gunned down in their schools, movie theatres and nightclubs. Entire cities were torched when residents disagreed with local government. Mob rule accelerated until, at last, it could no longer be contained. Like independent bubbles pop to the surface before a pot coalesces into a roaring boil, discrete incidents of violence and carnage proliferated until all of Civilization converged in a violent breaking point from which there could be no return.
Then, ironically, formerly polarizing distinctions of race, religion, ethnicity and gender fell away. From scrabbled patches of scorched earth in poorer nations to swank drug-funded night spots in wealthy metropolitan centers, a uniform shout was heard. Although it sounded in many languages and cultural styles. Its message was unified and unmistakable: “Youth over age.” With that, “Middle Times” ended forever.
In keeping with youth-oriented, anti-materialistic rhetoric of Earth’s Final Worldwide Revolution, there was, at first, a unified demand for social flattening, an eradication, of all economic and political stratification between men. As for the age-old power struggle between men and women, the, so called, “battle of the sexes,” it too was outlawed when women, as usual bringing up the rear, demanded they not only to be treated precisely the same as one another but also the same as men. That was said to have marked the beginning of the end of biological genders within the new social order. After MONOMORPHS took over, gender was specifically outlawed along with sexual reproduction. Henceforth, all reproductive activity would be controlled by Government Cloning Agencies and all new citizens cloned would be gender neutral.
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Memories of these stories swirl thru Rojelio’s consciousness as Ivan’s low, gravelly voice calls him back to the present.
“I asked you, Rojelio, why are you trying to set it free,” Ivan demands inclining his lionesque head towards the MONOMORPH. Rojelio, finally, snapping the projecting metal piece from the MONOMORPH’S right ankle and propping Noon’s trap open with a large rock, pulls the MONOMORPH’S thin leg free and helps the MONOMORPH to sit up while placing its metal ankle scrap into his waistband for safekeeping.
Rojelio looks up at Ivan. “Free? Who is ever really free?” he responds sadly. Then, remembering his long held secret opinion of Ivan’s low intellect adds: “Don’t worry. It is a prisoner of this injury. Even a MONOMORPH could not get far on that ankle.”
“Well I believe,” Ivan stares forward belligerently and carefully flicks a bug off his arm, “we should make it a prisoner of ourselves.”
As Rojelio methodically resets Noon’s trap, the MONOMORPH makes no move to stand and run – simply sitting there gazing at them with huge grey eyes, demonstrating neither fear nor aggression, as deep lavender liquid, like human blood, continues to poor from its wound.
Rojelio moves in closer to examine it’s wound while the MONOMORPH remains motionless. Rojelio considers. Perhaps, like with blood, some action should be taken to stave the flow of this purple liquid. Rojelio pulls off his red Bandana and turns up to Ivan.
“We must apply a tourniquet” he says in what Ivan (used to deference accorded him as Premier Hunter of their Band) feels is an unacceptably firm tone.
“You are asking me to help this…this creature,” Ivan is incredulous. “ We should be killing it here and now.”
“You do realize,” Rojelio tries patience, “this MONOMORPH might possess information that could be extremely valuable to us?” Although, Rojelio, himself, feels sympathy for the creature he realizes humanitarian arguments would hold no sway with Ivan.
“And, so?”
“And so I feel we should try to stop this liquid from flowing and bring this MONOMORPH back to camp for questioning. Then, let the council decide its fate.”
“And I believe we should kill it here and now exactly as its kind would kill us if they found us here.” Ivan flexes his muscles. “No. I shall not assist you to bring this creature back to camp.”
Rojelio stares up at Ivan, tightens his tourniquet, heaves the MONOMORPH over his shoulders and dead lifts its body with him as he rises to stand upright. Without further discussion he turns and begins hiking up the trail towards camp leaving a trail of purple liquid behind. Ivan, surprised, repeatedly shakes his head as he returns to the sentry post where he lowers his massive musculature down into a comfortable seated position he will maintain for the remainder of his watch.
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Caves and tents occupied by Band Wise-Woman, Justicia, like those of Band-Healer, Curatio, are normally set up some distance from main camp sites to allow rare (in band society) privacy for assistance seekers. Moving from blinding sunlight into Justicia’s shadowy cave Rojelio feels cool despite heat outside and fires burning within a massive stone fireplace. His senses are immediately assaulted by familiar smells of burning herbs and musty relics including bound legal volumes Noon scavenged from old government buildings which are carried from camp to camp during migrations in wheeled wooden bookcases — which function as transport vehicles during camp relocations but now rest comfortably against cave walls. Like Noon and Curatio, Justicia is able to understand markings in and on artifacts and relies upon these volumes to help her council Band members and guide them in dispute resolutions. Rojelio hopes she will advise him now on what action should be taken with his MONOMORPH which rests, in a compliant heap, exactly where placed on one of many wheeled benches scattered throughout public areas of Justicia’s cave. Its great grey MONOMORPH eyes halt momentarily to focus upon a large image of an all seeing eye carved out within a triangle in one cave wall then continue to scan surroundings stopping again to take in Justicia’s several brightly colored parrots who announce visitors by vigorously flapping their wings and squawking loudly enough to easily be heard throughout cave living chambers which extend back beyond hanging leather panels dividing public from private areas of Justicia’s cave.
As leather flaps part, Justicia emerges – her infinite wrinkles arranged in a welcoming smile. A diaphanous black cape swirls about her slender frame which is draped in a black floor length robe cinched by a loose silver belt. Her mane of wavy white, waist length hair swirls gently around her face as she moves towards Rojelio, arms extended for embrace. Suddenly she spots the MONOMORPH still huddled on a bench. It sees her. Eyes widen all around in surprise.
“RoHElio.” Justicia’s emphasis on the second syllable of his name signals even she, who has heard all, seen all, is shocked by what is in front of her.
“I found it by observation hill #1…injured. Ivan wanted to kill it but I thought maybe….” Justicia approaches the MONOMORPH cautiously and bends to examine Rojelio’s tourniquet, looking up at him questioningly. “It was leaking fluid, something like blood. So I thought I would try to stop the flow…” he shrugs.
Justicia stands, places her fingers between her lips and issues a sharp whistle. Two large, slender, gray dogs appear instantly at her side. “Curatio,” she orders, patting their heads before they lunge out the front opening of the cave. Justicia turns back towards the MONOMORPH which has observed all this impassively. Moving slowly, she approaches until she is directly in front of the MONOMORPH staring gently into its huge Gray eyes. Extending her arms forward, palms upward, she remains there looking, but not touching, the MONOMORPH until her gray dogs returns accompanied by a short, stout, dusky-skinned woman with piercing black eyes, dressed entirely in white except for her huge, ornate gold earrings. Her hair, a single jet black braid, reaches down her back to her waist. When she sees the MONOMORPH she stops abruptly and gapes. Then, regaining her composure, she briskly approaches, kneels down before its wounded ankle. “Bring a torchlight so I can see,” she commands accentuating final syllables of her phrases in an odd way as if her statements were questions? The MONOMORPH makes no move to withdraw as she carefully examines its wound and makes no sound when, shortly thereafter, she expertly sutures its wound closed as she would with an ANCIENT patient.
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In the weeks following its arrival at camp, the MONOMORPH makes no attempt to escape – not even after its leg heals, not even when, at night, it is left alone in a small animal-hide tent which has been set up for it in between Justicia and Curatio’s caves. It consumes tiny amounts of whatever food and drink it is given and seems not to engage in any form of body waste elimination. Nor does it sleep much. It simply sits all night staring with its great gray eyes until Rojelio comes to accompany it to the main camp area each morning. There, it stays all day, wherever he places it, until he comes and walks it back to its tent at day’s end.
“ This creature is a danger to us. More of its kind are sure to come searching for it and that will be the end for us,” Ivan and a few of his allies complain glaring in the direction of the MONOMORPH which, having removed its body armor, resembles a pale thin eight-year-old. But no one comes. And after everyone’s initial curiosity passes, most Band members simply accept the MONOMORPH’S silent presence and pay it no more attention than it appears to pay them as they move thru their daily activities.
Given its seeming indifference to everything surrounding it, everyone is quite shocked one day when the MONOMORPH, without warning, rises and begins silently following Noon throughout the campsite. If Noon is surprised, she gives no indication. Instead she slows her pace and patiently demonstrates her various activities with gestures so that the MONOMORPH can join in if it wishes. It does.
Shortly after it begins mirroring Noon’s daily routines, the MONOMORPH commences to emit a series of patterned clicking sounds accompanied by precise gestures as it accompanies Noon in her daily tasks. Noon has always had a knack for language and can communicate even with ANCIENT travelers from distant locations who are not easily understood by other Band members. After watching and listening, she begins to carefully inventory the MONOMORPH’S gestures and sounds – some of which she can mimic by using her tongue against the roof of her mouth to produce a variety of “clicking” noises. She also shares Band words with the MONOMORPH which occasionally seems able to repeat a word or phrase in a flat mechanical voice. Together Noon and the MONOMORPH assign sounds and gestures to objects and actions and before long they have established their own private language combining sound patterns, gestures and random words.
So Noon’s linguistic work may be conducted more efficiently, the MONOMORPH is moved into Noon and Thor’s cave where it is treated rather like Clita and Dongk who, along with their father Thor, learn how to communicate with it using gestures and sounds and occasional words like their mother does. With domestic intimacy and increasing communication, everyone becomes uncomfortable referring to this new “family member” as “it” or “the MONOMORPH.” Searching for a gender neutral name that pays homage to the MONOMORPH’S birth in an outer-space cloning lab, they finally settle upon “Star” — pronouncing it in two syllables, emphasis on the first, which includs a slight outflow of breath followed by a pronounced click of tongue against back of the soft palate. Band members unable to match this sound just say “Star” normally.
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Although most band members can’t directly communicate with this strange fusion of clicks, words and gestures used by Noon’s family, and later by Justicia and Curatio, Star still becomes a Band favorite. Only Ivan and his closest sidekick Vlad continue to grumble about “possible threats.” Extraordinary physical strength makes Star a great helper on many Band projects. Noon, Justicia and Curatio, meanwhile, are learning important information about MONOMORPH society from casual conversations with Star. This is helping the Band devise improved survival strategies.
Accompanying Rojelio one day during sentry duty, Star draws his attention to a contingent of MONOMORPHS passing on a trail below. After signaling an alert to Beverly, Rojelio turns back to Star and extends both arms out, palms up, pointing towards the MONOMORPH battalion, as if to ask whether Star wishes to rejoin them. Star, however, remains standing silently by his side and, with a shake of the head, utters the word “no” in a flat metallic tone as the MONOMORPHS recede into the distance.
Back at camp, Rojelio locates Noon to interpret for him.
“Why didn’t you want to go back with your own kind when you had the chance,” he asks.
Star is quiet for a moment before responding with a slow series of clicks, gestures and words. “Star says,” Noon translates, “If I had gone, would you have noticed I wasn’t here?
“Of course, we all would have noticed and missed you if you were not here.”
More clicks, gestures and words: “Star says, ‘Well no one there even realizes I am gone. That is why.’”
They learn then how MONOMORPH society values its members as a group not as individuals. At “origination,” Star explains, MONOMORPH’s are assigned to various positions and are then brought up to assume duties associated with that assignment. Duties are performed until one reaches age twenty-one at which time one is retired…from life. As cloning centers are very prolific, new MONOMORPHS are always being created to replace their “retired” predecessors. If a MONOMORPH is injured or otherwise compromised, no effort is made to heal or repair as it’s easier and cheaper to simply permanently “retire” and replace them. There are massive “retirement” facilities scattered throughout the Milky Way galaxy including a large one here on Earth. This is why Star never attempted to escape. Upon being injured, Star was as good as dead. Among ANCIENTS, Star was reborn and accepts a place among them now professing loyalty and fealty with a solemn series of clicks, gestures and Band words. **************************************************************
Important information is constantly revealed thru casual conversations with Star. Star explains why MONOMORPH battalions are seen so frequently on roadways in valleys below camp. MONOMORPH Governance Headquarters are, it turns out, located here on Earth – surprisingly, not far from the Band’s present campsite. These vast official complexes include an Official Center For Intragalactic Transport (OCFIT) and Official Center For Intragalactic Communications (OCFIC). Their giant computer center, where Star previously worked, sprawls out over so much space is hard to believe the ANCIENTS have never stumbled across it. For their part, MONOMORPHS, presuming ANCIENTS would never dare tarry so near a massive government installation, have never bothered to search surrounding mountain caves. Their present camp site, then, is safe not despite its precarious proximity to MONOMORPH Governance Center but, ironically, because of it — as it is the last place on Earth MONOMORPHS would ever think to search for ANCIENTS. If ANCIENTS were discovered, though, it would mean instant obliteration by massive nearby MONOMORPH armies against whom they would have no chance.
Elders ponder this dilemma: Should we stay or should we go? When asked for input, Star reminds them how MONOMORPHS, except those who are part of the ruling oligarchy, are bred to follow not to lead and would not likely step outside established rules and procedures. If they have been safe thus far, it is likely they will remain so. So, it is decided they will remain in their present camp site thru fall and winter and reconsider matters next spring.
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Justicia and Noon are both very interested in MONOMORPH social and political structure and listen very closely wherever Star volunteers information on these topics. Over time, they piece together that huge armies of cloned MONOMORPH cyborgs are produced constantly and sent to work in various jobs till their “expiration” at age twenty-one. Leadership is limited to a small group of individuals, and their genetic, sexually reproduced offspring who live in hidden and heavily guarded enclaves on earth and throughout Milky Way Galexy. Although they are almost never seen by rank-and-file MONOMORPHS, they are rumored to resemble “old fashioned” humans.
Clita and Dongk often ask Star questions about MONOMORPH social life. Social interactions between MONOMORPHS, Star explains, are discouraged. When not working, a MONOMORPH may ingest certain substances (called “tickets”) which allow them to undergo enhanced virtual reality experiences (called “vacations” or “trips”) for entertainment. During rest times in MONOMORPH barracks, individuals often lie in their assigned rest spots strapped into virtual headsets on “vacation.” Once their “trip” is over, it is time for them to return to their official duties. “Vacations” where a MONOMORPH meets and forms a special bond with another MONOMORPH are extremely popular. But it is pure fantasy. Such fraternization would never be permitted in real life. It would interfere with work. Oligarchic leaders do form bonds with others of their kind, Star explains. They make this “sacrifice,” they say, so they can engage in sexual reproduction to keep the MONOMORPH breeding stock “fresh.”
When Clita hears about MONOMORPH relationship restrictions, she stops sharing her shy secrets about Trion, a young male identifier from a neighboring Band that has caught her interest. It seems cruel to talk of love bonds where for poor Star there was never any chance of having any kind of special relationship. Even when she learns Trion’s Band plans on wintering with her own Band in their present camp site, she hides her happiness. But Star seems to know her feelings anyway and reacts with a series of cheerful beeps and clicks upon hearing they will soon arrive.
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Elders from both bands smile when they see Clita and Trion sharing food or talking softly together. Dongk engages his sister’s suitor in friendly rivalry, racing and throwing spears, and when convinced his intentions are honorable they bond. Both work shoulder to shoulder breaking through the ceiling of Justicia’s cave to build a stone staircase leading to her new upper chambers. Like Clita and Dongk, Trion is suspected of having reproductive capabilities making him a source of hope for ANCIENT human repopulation efforts. That Clita and Trion actually like each other makes this hope even stronger. When Star continues to seem pleased and excited for them – Clita eventually begins to share her girlish fantasies once more believing that if Star cannot have a special relationship at least her experiences will provide a chance to experience one vicariously.
As Summer cedes to Fall, spirits are high. Threats of MONOMORPH dangers seem far away as preparations are made to store food for Winter.
Then, on a beautiful early fall morning, Clita is found in her sleeping area in a puddle of blood and everything changes.
*****************************************
Camp is now filled with frantic preparations. A ceremony is held and Clita & Trion officially become Hearth Partners. Soon thereafter Clita’s slender frame thickens with anticipated life. She glows and flows through camp with her long blond waves loosely cinched on either side of her head by flowering vines, tendrils trailing around her face. Whenever she sets out to forage in response to a sudden craving, Trion’s lanky, sinuous form lopes protectively behind her. ANCIENT joy is unbounded. There has been no human birth in many, many moons and the last unsuccessful with — a stillborn infant. A healthy new human baby will signify that ANCIENTS are not extinct. Enough new human births and human life might, once again, exist as it existed before MONOMORPH cyborgs took over planet Earth and Milky Way Galaxy. Band members outdo one another fashioning special gifts and planning celebrations for their new arrival. Even distant bands send congratulatory presents and information on their own potentially reproductive young members. Only Ivan, his sidekick Vlad and their friend Peter, a Premier Hunter from Trion’s band, seem indifferent, almost hostile, to everyone’s festive mood. Despite their massive musculature and hunting prowess, not one of these men is reproductively capable and all share a dislike for events not centered around them and their special skills. Nevertheless, their hunting expeditions produce abundant game – enough for birth festivities as well as winter survival. Both bands breathe a collective sigh of relief.
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“Do you understand your undertaking,” Gnostica asks Clita. Her tiny helper, Aikido flits gracefully between assembled band members waiving a metal device filled with pungent burning herbs. The large group includes Trion’s bandmates as well as Clita’s. Smoke from wall torches swirls lazily through the cave’s large public areas. Gnostica’s soft hypnotic voice can be heard over water trickling from above into an interior pool which connects to a nearby stream. Gnostica is Band Spiritual Guide. Her cave was chosen especially for its size and mystical water flow.
“Do you agree that now you have brought a life into our world, all else must be placed behind your duties as a parent,” she continues. Band members hold their collective breath as Clita, seated atop a mound of fresh birthing herbs, her new baby resting comfortably in her lap, smiles shyly and nods her assent. “And you, Trion, you understand that your first responsibility now is to your child and your child’s mother?” Trion stands, places his right hand over his heart, and solemnly raises and lowers his head in agreement. “Upon you two, as upon each and every parent of each and every child, rests the fate of all mankind,” Gnostica continues. “May we never again return to sacrilege of End Times, when unwanted, unloved children were brought onto Earth by careless, indifferent parents who left them to roam wild to killing each other and anyone else they happened across.”
Both band’s members softly repeat: “May we never return…May every human child born onto this earth be a blessing to loving parents.” Band members clasp hands: “A blessing.” They repeat. “A blessing.”
“How shall she be called,” asks Justicia gently removing baby from mother’s arms and holding her aloft for all to witness her perfection.
“How will you call her,” intone Band members gravely. “What shall be her name?”
Even Star, who stands right next to Clita, seems deeply moved, eyes bright and shining with something which, in an old-fashioned human, might look like tears of joy.
Clita looks up at Trion who nods. Reaching over to grasp Star’s hand, Clita says, in a loud clear voice, “I call her Estrella.” Then speaking to Star in a soft combination of clicks and gestures she explains: “It means ‘Star’ in the language of some ANCIENTS.”
“Estrella,” Justicia repeats slowly. “May she guide us, like the stars in the Heavens, towards better times on Earth and in our Universe, home of our Gods.”
“May Estrella lead us to better times,” chant band members. “Better times.” “Better times.”
Placing Estrella gently back into Clita’s arms, Justicia smiles and announces: “Now, let us rejoice. For our Gods have blessed us with new life and we must celebrate and show our thankfulness for this blessing.” Raising her hands and moving forward, she leads everyone out towards a huge feast of meat, fowl, fish, fruit, nuts, honey and assorted leaves and plants spread out on tall serving stones in front of her cave. Young male-identifiers from both bands gather around Trion, clasping his hand and clapping him on his back. Opera and Drums, Chief Band Music Makers, accompanied by their assistants, commence playing lively music and complex rhythms from hollowed out reeds, acoustic gourds strung with animal gut and skin head drums. This is a great moment for Ancient Bands and for Mankind. Eating, dancing and merriment captivate revelers so thoroughly that no one even notices Ivan and his companions huddled off to one side seemingly unmoved by celebrants and festivities.
*******************************
Seasons come and go. Estrella is a toddler. Dongk and Fleur (cousin of Trion) are Hearth Partners and another new baby has been welcomed with joyous celebration. Believing their Gods have ordained them to remain in this camp where such great blessings have been bestowed, both Bands postponed seasonal migrations and work to fortify their camp. Some Band members begin experimenting with seeding and harvesting edible plant crops rather than foraging in hopes of finding edibles growing wild. Constant vigilance is necessary, of course, as MONOMORPHS remain an ever-present threat. Yet it is hard to remember danger when this camp site feels like home.
*******************************
It is hot. Extremely hot for early spring. Beverly appreciatively watches Rojalio’s rippled body from her post at Lookout Hill #1. Estrella, at her feet, plays at breast feeding a baby doll fashioned from vines, animal skins and old scraps of cloth. Rojelio waves an all clear signal from Lookout Hill #3, his sinewy, brown arm remaining aloft perhaps a moment longer than necessary. Beverly catches her breath as she sometimes does when she allows herself to stare at Rojelio’s tight, compact body. She wonders, not for the first time, how things might have been for them had they possessed coveted procreative abilities. Would they have been Hearth Partners with a child of their own? Would her vestigial breast organs have filled with sweet milk to feed their baby? Would she and Rojelio been encouraged to slip off and “spend time together,” as Estrella’s mom and dad are doing right now, in hopes of bringing yet another precious new life into their world? She and Rojelio are Estrella’s most beloved adults apart from her parents and, of course, Star. They, in turn, adore her. Really, everyone does, with the possible exception of Ivan and his sidekicks, who remain reservedly indifferent.
Lumbering into view, Ivan heads down to relieve Rojelio on sentry duty at Lookout Hill 3 wearing his usual stony sneer. Seeing Ivan approaching, Rojelio casts a final scan across valleys and streams of, so called, “border territories” which separate ANCIENT occupied cliffs and caves from MONOMORPH troop pathways snaking ominously thru valleys below. There have been no recent MONOMORPH sightings, but ANCIENTS avoid these border territories not wishing to tempt fate.
Today, however, Rojelio notices a seductive shimmer of fish playfully leaping around sunlit waters in a border territory pond very close to MONOMORPH troop pathways. Weighing MONOMORPH proximity against a mental image of serving stones heaped high with fresh grilled fish stuffed with herbs and dripping in nut oil, he gestures his intention to descend towards Beverly, his back already turning from her before she can vigorously shake her head “No.” Looking down at little Estrella, Beverly signs a cross: “May our Gods protect our Rojelio, Little One, because today he has chosen to tempt them.” Ivan glances up at her shrugging his shoulders in an indifferent “what’s with him,” gesture and carefully lowers himself into a comfortable sitting position at Lookout Hill #3.
*************************
Rojelio crouches in shallow pond water as fish practically jump into his hands hardly resisting as he places them gently into a tightly woven vine net he carries to gather unexpected food finds. Shortly, with a bulging net over one shoulder, Rojelio rises ready to return to camp.
Turning towards camp ascent trails, he freezes.
For a second time in his life, Rojelio is staring unexpectedly into giant, grey, MONOMORPH eyes. Only, this MONOMORPH, unlike Star, is fully grown and not injured. Still, it appears so like Star, this creature, that Rojelio’s surprise gives way to a momentary surge of kinship. Then the MONOMORPH lifts its right hand, palm towards face, and begins emitting a series of precise clicks and beeps into what must be some sort of embedded communication device. Rojelio hears sounds like Star might make yet somehow more intense and less…friendly. Never having learned that language, which Noon’s family and Band leaders share with Star, Rojelio cannot understand what is being said. He makes no move to run though. Having personally witnessed MONOMORPH strength and agility, he knows he could not possibly escape. Slowly he lowers his net of fish out towards the MONOMORPH which neither accepts nor rejects his gesture — merely continuing to stare with great gray eyes. Rojelio allows himself to conjure one last, fleeting image of Beverly’s roundly curving body. Then, hoping she and the others will be safe he braces for his death.
Moments pass.
Nothing happens.
Rojelio refocuses his thoughts. By now, this MONOMORPH could easily have snapped him in two several times over and gone on about its business. It hasn’t. Why? As if in answer to his silent question, several more MONOMORPHS suddenly appear, all clicking and beeping excitedly amongst themselves. Turning, in unison, towards Rojelio, they extend their thin little arms in a smooth, choreographed gesture pointing towards a pathway leading further downhill towards what Rojelio knows, from information Star has shared with the Band, are massive MONOMORPH government installations. Firmly but not roughly he feels himself pushed in that direction. Glancing backwards towards Lookout Hill #3, Rojelio sees Ivan, blithely unaware of what is happening, absorbed in something or other he is eating. Beverly, he knows, cannot see this area from Lookout Hill #1. Slowly he raises his hands voluntarily over his head in what he hopes MONOMORPHS recognize as a universal gesture of submission and begins descending downhill followed by his small crowd of clicking, beeping captors.
*******************************
When Rojelio does not return to camp Beverly’s concern grows. Upon Ivan’s reappearance she closely questions him. Ivan is at first indifferent and eventually annoyed by her anxious persistence.
“Look,” he says in his Eastern European accented speech, “you saw him go downhill just as I did. Why? How do I know? He was already on his way down when I arrived to relieve him. You know him better than I. Why would he go down, go into border territory? You tell me.
Concern spreads through camp. Breeders and their offspring are quickly sequestered deep within seemingly unoccupied caves. ANCIENT leaders confer: Are they in danger? Should this camp site be abandoned? Should a search party be sent to try and find Rojelio? Is he lying injured somewhere out in Border Territory? Has he been captured and/or killed, by MONOMORPHS? Or, has he simply voluntarily chosen to move on in search of alternative band affiliations? Individuals sometimes do, despite Beverly’s protestations that he would never, ever leave? Star volunteers to descend into MONOMORPH territory and investigate. Facing limited options, ANCIENT leaders agree.
*******************************
At MONOMORPH headquarters, normally impassive workers glance up in brief surprise as an ANCIENT is paraded through their immaculate, solar-thermic, glass walled government offices towards elevators which service rarely used underground detention and interrogation areas. Reports and requests for orders automatically dispatch to their oligarchic sexually dimorphic High Command Leaders who, as usual, are comfortably sequestered in their heavily guarded luxury space estates – remaining insulated from contact with rank-and file MONOMORPH citizens. “Debrief the prisoner,” come back their orders. “His information may be useful for controlling and extinguishing Earth’s pesky ANCIENT population.”
Rojelio is led down endless, bright, sterile hallways to a buttonless, glass-enclosed elevator which plays electronic music as it descends thru visible layers of earth until its doors automatically open depositing Rojelio and his guards out into a subterranean office complex populated by bright purple robot workers efficiently gliding from room to room with stacks of computerized print-outs. After seemingly endless hallways, they finally arrive at an empty white marble rotunda. Two enormous, black marble Doric columns stand on either side of a set of massive, ornate, hammered brass, double doors. These open automatically as Rojelio is nudged thru them and then close behind him with a loud whoosh.
Glancing around Rojelio finds himself in another round chamber which might have been plucked straight out of one of Noon’s cherished volumes on Earth’s history. Vaulted, polished wood paneling and flocked tapestry wall coverings are topped with twenty-four-inch black marble crown moldings. Projecting off this main salon, numerous arched portals display a series of wide corridors lined with massive sculptures and paintings in ornate, gilded frames. A mahogany spiral stairway curves up into a second story gallery surrounded by a mahogany and wrought iron balustrade. Rojelio can see it houses walls of ornately carved book cases, filled with leather-bound volumes, whose top shelves can only be reached on a wooden ladder which wheels across them on a metal track. Antique furniture and massive brass pots of living plants fill every nook and cranny. Cozy recessed lounging areas are strewn with multi-colored throws and pillows into which sparkling chips of colored glass and mirrors are woven. Although he knows they are underground, lavish brocade window treatments create an illusion of outside space. Numerous crystal chandeliers, each one different, glitter above him. And underfoot, terra cotta, marble floors peek out from beneath thick, vibrantly patterned carpets which, like the glittering throws and pillows, are of a type still fabricated and bartered by distant Middle Eastern ANCIENT Clans. A huge, antique samovar, chocolate brown with swirling yellow, apricot and pink floral designs, stands next to a shelf of mason jars holding what look like an assortment of teas and spices. Scents of musk and amber accented by Jasmine waif through the air.
Rojelio cannot help setting his anxiety aside momentarily to wonder, in awe, what Noon would think of this place. Then, suddenly, from an ancient gramophone, he hears a man’s voice, which he cannot know is that of Luciano Pavarotti, singing an impassioned declaration of love as Calaf in Puccini’s Turandot.
*****************************************
“I have a few questions to ask you,” says a pleasant voice from somewhere nearby. Rojelio spins around to see an individual of indeterminate gender rise from within a generously proportioned, cordovan leather, tufted, brass studded, wing-back, club chair and move towards him. “A lot is going to depend upon how you answer them.”
He, she or it has huge, grey MOMOMORPH eyes but a delicately featured, ANCIENT face. Jet black hair is clasped back in a curly, nape-of-the-neck pony tail with a few wispy stragglers, not sufficient to be called beard or moustache, curling about his/her/its chin and upper lip. A waspish waist and hint of chest bumps suggest a female-identifier but a brusque, authoritative demeanor reads as masculine. The eyes and scrawny, youthful frame suggests a MONOMORPH. But his/her/its tan skin, displaying oily, dark purple only about the lips and eyes, as well his/her/its speech, flawless U.S. Midwest ANCIENT, suggest a NON-MONOMORPH. Could he/she/it be both; and does he/she/it identify as a male or female gender, Rojelio wonders. Logically, he realizes ANCIENTS did not instantly evolve into MONOMORPHS, that there must have been various transitional forms along the way. But he has never seen nor even heard of a being such as the one seated before him.
As he/she/it approaches Rojelio, the ANCIENT/MONOMORPH turns towards his guards and utters a flawless stream of clicks and beeps. They quickly withdraw. Extending his/her/its hand towards Rojelio he/she/it says: “Before we get started with our questioning, please, allow me to offer you a cup of tea and some food.” Gesturing towards one of the pillow-filled lounging areas his “host” displays a thin, closed lip, smile. “Maybe you are wondering where you are right now. I imagine conditions under which you have been surviving have not afforded you abundant opportunities to learn about us — who we are, how we came to control our vast, efficient, fair and far-reaching empire. You may rest in one of our guest rooms here over the next few days and then I will take you on a tour of our state-of-the-art government facility and…enlighten you.”
*******************************
Meanwhile, scrambling downhill across border territories, Star quickly reaches MONOMORPH Government Headquarters and, blending seamlessly in with MONOMORPH workers on campus is able to enter Central Information Department without detection. Knowing all communications between MONOMORPH Leaders and armies of minions on Earth and throughout the Galaxy pass thru here, Star determines it should be fairly easy to review past records to find out if Rojelio has been captured.
It is.
Sliding casually into an unoccupied work station Star logs on to a communication device and skillfully initiates a search knowing nearby workers will take no notice as MONOMORPHS are trained to execute their endless tasks automatonically — maintaining little or no unnecessary social interactions with others around them. Star quickly learns Rojelio is alive, well and being detained for questioning by Earth’s Top Official/Commander who is stationed at this compound. Satisfied, Star nonchalantly logs out and moves off in that brisk, purposeful way of a MONOMORPH going thru its isolated work day.
Slipping out into rapidly descending nightfall, Star quickly scrambles back uphill and into camp where chaos has taken hold. It seems, as Star is informed, that Ivan and several of his closest allies have also gone missing. “What could this mean,” everyone is asking. In a rapid-fire series of clicks, beeps and gestures interpreted by Noon & Thor, Star informs everyone that Rojelio is safe for now and being held for questioning but that there was no indication of any other ANCIENT prisoners or of Iven and his friends. Over in a corner, Beverly slumps over with relief. For now, at least, Rojelio is alive.
*******************************
Much of what he is shown over his days of “touring” is already familiar to Rojelio from spontaneous conversations between Band members and Star. However this creature, whom Rojelio has come to consider his “host” or “tour guide,” seems to relish showing off this compound while providing exhaustive explanations of, and justifications for, MONOMORPH society. He/she/it also appears to enjoy conversing in “ANCIENT” tongue. So Rojelio expresses polite interest in everything shown — even MONOMORPH Euthanasia Chambers.
“Classical Earth’s downfall,” his guide pontificates, as they stand before a white stone building into whose pocketed metal doors numerous dots and dashes and the words “Euthanasia Chambers,” are etched in bold, black lettering, “really, the downfall of ANCIENT society in general, was overpopulation. Yes, after a time, there were simply too many people for Earth’s resources to support – especially when so many people were…non-productive. Two huge groups of these ‘Non-Productives,’ as they were called, were ultimately responsible for draining Earth’s finite resources past its limits and bringing down classical human civilization.
“And these two groups were,” ventures Rojelio.
First, there were the young. Simply too many children were being born — many to people unable or unwilling, to care for them yet who, nevertheless, continued reproducing themselves casting their spawn onto the mercy of our universe to survive however they were able. Some cultures tried to utilize social service agencies to care for this overload of children. Others experimented with limiting births — one child per family and so forth. But such efforts were insufficient in a world where ones unfettered right to reproduce oneself went unquestioned despite a damaging impact on Earth’s finite resources. So, as resources dwindled and social mores broke down. There was a weakening of family bonds and many young people were left to roam in gangs killing one another and anyone else they happened across during their short, violent lives. Those who survived often ended up in institutions where they were housed and fed at public expense.
The second group of ‘Non-Productives’ competing for disappearing resources were the elderly. Many of them had been productive during their prime but, due to scientific advancements, had lived past a point where they could be of any further use to society. With their constant wining about “the good old days,” they were an annoyance to their families and a burden to society with their costly medical expenses and caretaking needs. Of course, some had acquired assets during their productive years which they greedily horded to fund their later years when they would selfishly cling to life although they had nothing further to offer. So laws were passed to separate these lingering elders from their money, property and possessions. And eventually private asset accumulation was denounced and outlawed. Worldwide there was a great economic leveling and a recognition that these two groups – the very young and the very old – were a threat to Humankind. Worldwide leaders agreed: Something had to be done.”
“And…,” Rojelio inquires carefully, what was…done,”
“Well, at first, they cut back on necessary medical care and social services for elders. This was,” he/she/it pauses to offer a pinched smile, “that was when our policies of ‘limited life span’ originated. Without medical and caretaking assistance, most elders simply succumbed from natural causes. However, reckless reproductive behavior persisted and overpopulation continued to rise at an exponential rate. Experts stepped in and decided our only solution was to bring all child bearing and child rearing activities one hundred percent under government control – as they are now. There could be no more ‘private’ families. Sexually based reproduction was outlawed and thereafter everything proceeded through the state which relies upon cloning reproduction…except, of course, for Top Level Commanders.”
“What happens to Top Level Commanders,” Rojelio asks politely.
“Well, of course, they still practice sexual reproduction. It’s a sacrifice they make to keep an actively evolving gene pool,” Rojelio’s host states in a tone suggesting that should be obvious. “To combat overpopulation, a twenty-one-year, life-span limit was placed on all cloned citizens which is how we came to have these euthanasia chambers you see before you.” He/she/it waves one slender arm in a wide arc drawing attention back to their present location. “Now all new citizens are cared for by the state and each one is given an absolutely equal chance to live their productive life for twenty-one years. Then, at twenty-one years of age, each individual (except, of course, for high level leaders) must pass on to make room for a replacement. After, all, with MONOMORPH superior genetics (extreme strength and endurance, virtually no need for nourishment, few other bodily functions, and so forth) an individual could go on forever if not ‘retired’.”
“But, twenty-one years?” Rojelio breaks in. “Is that even a long enough time to learn…all one might wish to know… to understand…to acquire wisdom”?
“Wisdom is only for leaders,” he/she/it snaps back. “Of these, we have only a very few and they live in space estates and rarely visit earth. They are governed by an entirely different set of laws and rules. MONOMORPH citizens are required to follow orders and remain compliant. Once they have served their purpose and reached their twenty-first birthday, citizens are brought here” gesturing again towards Euthanasia Chambers “for permanent retirement.” He/she/it pauses: “There is a ceremony,” he/she/it adds, as if in an afterthought. “It is considered… an honor,”
“But don’t an individual’s loved ones object,” Rojelio persists.
“Love ones,” he/she/it offers a short snort of derision. “There are no ‘loved ones.’ Love is not permitted. You see where ‘love’ got Classical Earth’s ANCIENT human populations. As I said: Massive overpopulation. Endless reproduction of unwanted, uncared for human left to fend for themselves. Ever expanding worldwide gangs of youthful thugs. Incoherent, drugged elders, clinging to life beyond their productive time, lying in their own feces in nursing facilities throughout Planet Earth wasting precious assets. Is this your idea of ‘love’? No. We have eliminated all that. Our citizens are all young, strong, hard-working and loyal to our society. We have eliminated those pesky variances in religion, race, ethnicity and gender which used to create so much turmoil and discourse in Classical Earth societies. Our citizens are all exactly alike; entirely interchangeable. They think look and act alike so they are entirely self-contained. Personal relationships are no longer necessary. A relationship with another identical individual would be, in essense, a relationship with oneself. Such a relationship can be accomplished more efficiently within each individual, internally, thereby eliminating all those problems which occur in multi-individual relationships. Relationships between MONOMORPH citizens are banned. And as all citizens are gender neutral, we have eliminated all those ‘battle of the sexes’ dramas. MONOMORPHS are born alone and die alone before they become a non-productive burden on society. That is why,” he/she/it sweeps a scrawny arm in another expansive dramatic gesture, “we rule Planet Earth now and much of the Galaxy beyond. Our power is immense because our society is invincible.”
They are moving again thru a labyrinth of endless white halls and deserted chambers filled with empty glass cubicles and manned by occasional robot workers. Each is more sterile and empty than the last until in one chamber, Rojelio, glancing to his right, is shocked to see a group of what look like ANCIENTS crouching together in a tight circle inside a glass cubicle. Looking harder Rojelio believes it is Ivan and several of his friends. Engrossed in conversation, they never look up and Rojelio saying nothing follows his “guide” out into yet another stark white hall. Shortly thereafter they arrive back at the interrogation chambers, which Rojelio has come to consider his “guest suite.” Lively Irish fiddle drums & pipes blast from the ancient gramophone and Rojelio, pondering what he has just seen silently accepts a proffered cup of fragrant mint tea and a sugared biscuit.
*******************************
Back at camp, there is considerable controversy as Band Members evaluate their options. At a large communal supper attended by members of both Bands, various alternatives are debated. Eventually, those favoring remaining at this camp site while dispatching a rescue party, at sunrise, in an attempt to find and free Rojelio win out. Although everyone understands this is likely a suicide mission, many volunteer.
Following their meal, Noon & Thor wheel out a huge wooden tray containing a giant sweet made of honey, ground nuts and dried fruit. Behind them, Beverly walks balancing a large container of fermented berry juice, reserved for very special occasions, gracefully atop her head. Justicia rises and greets them.
Band members glance around at one another in confusion.
“We are in troubled times right now. This is for sure,” Justicia begins, addressing Band Members as Thor interprets for Star. “But even in such times, we must never forget to be thankful for those gifts and blessings we have been given. By gathering together to commemorate our joys as well as our sorrows we are bound more closely together as a people.” She moves to cut a small chunk of confection which she then carries over to Star. “Today is your twenty-first Birthday, Star. And we all gratefully acknowledge your presence among us and wish you happiness on your special day.” Band members line up for a chunk of dessert and sip or two of fermented wine chanting as Thor interprets: “To Star.” “Happy Birthday Star.” “May you have many more, Star.” Many cluster around Star offering hugs and smiles. Star, who apparently had not expected this outpouring, at first gazes around blankly. MONOMORPHS, having fairly fixed facial features, have difficulty expressing emotions through facial expressions. Eventually, however, those in close proximity witness a sheet of translucent lavender liquid streaming slowly across Star’s huge, gray eyes.
*******************************
“As you know,” Rojelio’s “host” says as Rojelio sips his mint tea, “I told you I would be questioning you after your informational tours were concluded.” Rojelio nods saying nothing. “My intention was to obtain information from you about ANCIENT populations moving thru this area and, in particular, whether or not any of them have active breeding programs.” Rojelio nods again, still saying nothing. “I had hoped that after seeing this world we have developed — a world free of racial, ethnic, religious or gender-based discord where each individual is given an exactly equal opportunity to participate – you would understand why it is so important for me to have this information. ANCIENTS, in general, are a nuisance. But ANCIENTS engaging in non-sanctioned, sexually-based breeding are a danger to our way of life. An increase in their numbers could pose…problems…for our society. Our Citizens might be less…happy…if they observed alternative lifestyles providing more freedom and personal choices than our own. This simply cannot be allowed.”
“Look,” Rojelio breaks in. “I understand what you’re saying and I’m grateful for your hospitality and this opportunity to observe your world and its many accomplishments. But, I’ve got to be honest. I cannot, I will not, betray my people. Just as you have told me how MONOMORPHS consider it an honor to be euthanized at age twenty-one, I must tell you ANCIENTS, too, are prepared to die for honor. So, it is I am ready to die.”
“Allow me to finish,” his “host” breaks in. “When you first…arrived…our situation was a bit different than it is now. My original intention was to show you our world in hopes you might voluntarily cooperate with information sharing. Afterward, as a reward, I planned to transfer you to our colonies where you would be permitted to live your natural life span in exchange for making periodic deposits of ANCIENT genetic material which we require for infusion into our cloning operations.”
“Colonies?”
“Yes. Our cloning operations are extremely sophisticated. Nevertheless, they are dependent upon occasional infusions of fresh, primordial genetic material to retain their…full vigor.” He/she/it breaks off offering a tight-lipped smile. “In any case, it seems this information I sought to obtain from you recently became available from other ANCIENTS who sought us out and voluntarily offered information to save themselves from search and destroy missions they correctly suspected would soon be coming.” Rojelio thinks back to Ivan and his friends hunched over in a huddle in their glass cubicle. “Traitorous genetic stock is inferior to honorable genetic stock. Thus, I am still prepared to offer you escape from impending destruction of nearby ANCIENT encampments and a life in our Genetic Donor Colonies in return for your agreement to share your genetic material.”
“Share? Why not just take it? I am, after all, your prisoner, helpless, in your power?”
“True. But some sort of ancient treaty prohibits harvesting genetic material without consent. Also, we have found it does not work. Genetic material taken without proper procedures quickly becomes inert, ‘lifeless’.” Rojelio’s “host” steps over and draws back a curtain to reveal a spectacular underground garden ablaze with twinkling candles and fragrant with thousands of night-blooming orchids. “Relax. Enjoy the view. Sleep on it,” he/she/it says turning back to Rojelio. “Our search and destroy missions commence within the next few days.” He lifts his arm and issues a crisp series of clicks and beeps into his hand. “Meanwhile, I have ordered supper to be sent down for you.” He purses his lips. “I understand how insatiable ANCIENT’S fuel requirements are compared to those of MONOMORPHS.”
“Wait,” Rojelio forces a smile. I am curious about another difference I have seen between us.”
“Oh?”
“That communication through your hand,” Rojelio affects an admiring tone, “it seems so…efficient. I was just wondering how that works.?
“Ah,” his host is obviously flattered, “you have hit upon our most ingenious and critical advancement: Internalized Intragalactic Communication or IIC as it is called. At conception, each citizen is outfitted with an IIC device which will remain embedded within them until they are euthanized. This is how we keep track of and communicate with each and every MONOMORPH citizen. Transmitters and receivers allow citizens to communicate by merely raising a hand and holding it in front of their face, as I have just done. These communication devices are linked to tracking devices located in the citizen’s ankle and embedded eye cameras allow us to know, and see, a precise location of every citizen at any given moment in time. As you might imagine, this diminishes any likelihood of individual, non-sanctioned behavior. Not that this is a problem. Our citizens are trained from conception to follow orders without question.”
“Amazing.” Rojelio assumes a respectful tone. “I imagine these…devices…must be foolproof.”
“For all intents and purposes, yes.” His “host” frowns. “Although, theoretically, I suppose if one of them were damaged, it could malfunction. But MONOMORPHS are basically indestructible. There would have to be a substantial trauma at precisely critical spots for that to happen. And in the unlikely event it did, there is a failsafe. Massive fluid leaks would occur until that injured citizen expired causing their IIC to seal off thereby closing down that particular communication portal permanently.”
“What if that didn’t happen?”
“Why whatever do you mean? It would have to. Our system was designed this way. Because everything and everyone is fully interconnected a breech would put everything and everyone, at risk — even our most powerful and high-ranking Commanders and Leaders in off-planet space compounds. If our communications network crashed, they would be stranded in outer space, cut off from Earth, helpless, unable to survive. One single individual could destroy our entire world, themselves included.” Here he/she/it stops and offers a pinched, condescending smile. “Obviously we would never allow that to happen. So as you can imagine we made our Internalized Intragalactic Communication System foolproof.” Swooshing doors announce MONOMORPH servers who set out Rojelio’s supper on a vintage tea cart. “Enough chatter,” his “host” says solicitously. “Enjoy your supper and rest. I will come to inquire about your decision tomorrow morning.”
*******************************
A murky green sky announces daybreak. Both Bands gather to see off loved ones who have volunteered to try and find and free Rojelio. There are hugs, kisses, tears. Everyone understands odds of surviving this volunteer mission are low. But odds for those remaining at camp are not much better. It is agreed, if captured, rescue volunteers will attempt to convince MONOMORPHS there are no other ANCIENTS beyond their search party in order to give those remaining back at camp a chance at survival. Meanwhile, ANCIENTS remaining back at camp will remove deep into recesses of seemingly empty, abandoned caves bringing sufficient provisions to remain there indefinitely should MONOMORPH Search & Destroy Brigades be dispatched. Of course, everyone realizes, MONOMORPH soldiers might not bother searching caves – might merely detonate explosives in cave entrances in which case occupants within will be entombed to suffer slow and painful deaths.
Rescue team members are led by Star followed closely by Thor who interprets Star’s commands. Spirits strengthen as everyone scrambles downhill towards MONOMORPH Military Installations. Star, wearing MONOMORPH body armor, is indistinguishable from any typical MOMOMORPH save for an amulet of metal, a scrap Rojelio broke off when freeing Star’s ankle from Noon’s trap, which glints on a vine rope in rising sunlight. Band Spiritual Leader, Gnostica, once declared it a good luck talisman and Star has worn it ever since.
Eventually they reach their destination and everyone pauses briefly as Star turns to Thor and communicates in a series of sign language gestures combined with clicking sounds – that unique language his Hearth Partner Noon developed with Star. Nodding affirmatively, Thor turns and interprets: “Most likely they are holding Rojelio in subterranean interrogation chambers so we will need to get past many workers and guards to reach him. The plan is for us to pretend to be prisoners captured by Star. Place your hands over your head and follow in a single file line.” Rescue team members nod and raise their arms as Star moves towards a massive gated wall and places one palm on an entry trackpad. As the gate slides apart they are confronted by a MONOMORPH Guard at whom Star quickly issues a series of authoritative clicks and beeps while the wall slides shut behind them. In apparent compliance with Star’s orders, the guard moves forward leading everyone down a long deserted white corridor towards an elevator servicing subterranean levels which is large enough to hold everyone. Saluting Star, the MONOMORPH guard departs as elevator doors close. They soon find themselves exiting down below. Moving thru numerous robot populated work areas, they eventually approach a set of massive hammered brass doors and Star, reaching one arm back, flashes a silent “V” sign.
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As the doors slide open, Rojelio is visible, illuminated by a glaring spotlight and confined to a metal chair with metal restraints. His “host,” back to the door, is addressing him in an irritated tone:
“I am truly sorry you have chosen to decline my very generous offer. Unfortunately, as I am sure you can understand, this leaves me no choice but to have you transferred to our Termination Center for elimination before I depart on our search and destroy missions.” He shakes his head disappointedly and issues a series of clicks and beeps to a MONOMORPH Sentry standing nearby who begins unstrapping Rojelio from his chair.
As the Sentry crouches down, the Commander turns bringing him/her/it face to face with Star who, in one fluid gesture, moves in swiftly and snaps his/her/its neck. As the Commander crumples down in a heap on the floor, Star speaking to Thor in their shared language, continues towards the Sentry who, despite MONOMORPH’S usual dispassionate and expressionless faces, appears shocked. Using surprise to advantage, Star quickly disables the Sentry as well. Star then crouches down to finish freeing Rojelio.
Looking up at Thor, Star continues gesturing and speaking. Thor translates for everyone else.
“Star says we must follow the hall to the right of these doors. It will lead us to evacuation ramps which were built to provide quick escape in event of an attack. We must move quickly thru these uninhabited areas and to Earth’s surface. We must not stop for anything and must proceed very quickly.”
“But isn’t Star coming with us,” Rojelio asks anxiously.”
Thor translates his question and Star responds with gestures, clicks & beeps.
“Star says that will not be possible,” says Thor.
Star looks up at Rojelio and Rojelio looks down at Star — just as he did when they first met.
Then Star reaches down and with one hands rips open a right ankle. Immediately lavender liquid begins to spurt out profusely and pool around Star’s body. Tearing off the amulet, Star separates metal from vine – inserting the former into the ankle opening where it can be heard clicking into place. Star then begins repeatedly pressing that ankle until a loud series of clicks can be heard followed by a sudden sound of warning sirens which seem to be sounding from both Star’s ankle and everywhere else all at once. Garden lights flicker and buzz and then extinguish. Volumes topple from shelves and walls begin to shake and crumble. A flat mechanical voice is heard announcing: “There has been a failsafe override. Repeat, a Failsafe override. This is the end. Repeat. The end.”
Issuing an urgent series of beeps and sign language gestures, Star waves away ANCIENTS and, growing obviously weaker, draws Thor close to issues some last remarks. Looking backwards towards Star, lying in a huge pool of lavender liquid, Rojelio hesitates and has to be pushed forward by others towards a hallway which begins collapsing behind them as they run. Explosions mingled with sirens create chaos. Lights flash as electrical systems fail around them. Fires ignite seemingly spontaneously. It is impossible to speak. Dust and falling chunks of debris swirl around ANCIENTS causing them to gasp for air. Not daring to stop, they rush further and further up the escape ramp until, at last, they reach an opening to Earth’s surface. Once outside everyone falls to the ground sucking in deep breaths and touching themselves as if to assure they are not dreaming. Then, looking upward, they see explosions like a huge, super fireworks show above them. Slowly they rise and begin moving up towards camp, dodging chunks of flaming debris and ash falling from the sky. Dusk is falling, and, as smoke and lights diminish, a great orange sun can be seen perched on the horizon line.
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That night at camp, everyone comes out of hiding. After hugging and kissing rescue party members, ANCIENTS gather to try and understand what has transpired…is still transpiring. A full yellow moon shines above but it is upstaged by periodic bursts of energy transforming night sky into day. Thunderous explosions rumble shake earth beneath them. Shafts of glowing energy slash thru darker moments like misguided lightning bolts. ANCIENTS look up awestruck and confused.
“We are witnessing an end of the MONOMORPH empire,” Thor tells them.
“You see,” Rojelio explains, “Every MONOMORPH has always possessed, within themselves, an ability to bring their entire world to an end.” He stops and looks around as though he is struggling to understand. “And, what’s more,” he finally adds with an expression of disbelief, “they all knew it.” “But being born and bred to be followers, to never think an independent thought, it never had occurred to any of them to use their ability.
“But Star,” adds Thor placing one arm around Rojelio’s shoulder, “Star spent time with us and was no longer limited by permitted thought patterns. Star understood that in destroying their entire MONOMORPH Empire everyone within it would be destroyed including whichever MONOMORPH brought about that destruction. In other words…”.
Rojelio continues as Beverly gently blots his flowing tears. “Star died…was willing to die, to save us all and our way of life.”
“It was Star’s last hope” Thor adds “that we ANCIENTS would resurrect – one child at a time – the original Human Race, hopefully avoiding all our mistakes from past civilizations.”
A gourde of fermented berry juice is passed from ANCIENT to ANCIENT as they listen. Each takes a sip and looks upward from time to time at exploding skylights above them. They toast: “To Star.” “May we always remember Star.” “Star will always be in our memory.” “Our Hero.” “Our Heroine.”
Estrella, just learning words and genders, pulls on Clita’s body wrap and mimics questioningly. “He-ro?…He-ro-ine?”
“Both, sweetheart,” Clita says lifting her into a hug and kiss. “Our Star was both.”
Rojelio, suddenly turns to Thor and asks out loud: “Thor, tell us the last thing Star said to you right at the end before everything started to tumble down?
Thor pauses, surveying their gathering with a solemn demeanor: “Star said,” as he speaks he raises his fingers to his chin also signing the words, “…Good Luck.” Then, with a small wry smile he adds, “And, Star said: “You’re going to need it.”