I have been accused of hating what makes man human. Nothing could be further from the truth. I love humanity so much that I wish to isolate the core of what it means to be human and set it free.
Arnon D’Bvaym, The Emancipation from Pain and Limitation: Collected Essays
THE CREATOR’S SPIRIT raged through Prophet like wildfire. He didn’t need to breathe, yet he flared his nostrils and inhaled for the sheer pleasure of the moment. No sensation even neared helping another person reach enlightenment—nothing so divinely affirmed to Prophet his sacred mission. Every sensor in his synthetic skin felt as if it were wreathed with holy flame.
Then came the disappointment. Instead of smelling the Garden’s usual sterile purity, the scent of blood and feces invaded Prophet’s nostrils. Unfortunately, corpses were messy, even the carefully-prepared one lying on a table behind Prophet.
The feelings lasted a moment. Prophet exhaled slowly and opened his eyes. On the operation table before him rested a metal, humanoid body. Moments before, it had merely been a shell, but now its skull housed a human brain. Prophet removed his bloody gloves and disposed of them in a disposal chute at the base of the other table behind him, then reached for the synthetic skin suit hanging off a branch of the Garden’s central tree.
Held in the air by its shoulders, the skin suit looked like a deflated version of the original man’s body, though improved in minor ways—a symmetrical jaw, eyebrows that rested evenly, and other small changes made him slightly more perfect. The metal body that now housed this man’s brain could never be an exact replica of his original body—a necessary evil of mass production—but the easily customized synthetic skin suit would bring it close by mimicking his shape and dimensions, relative to the size of the metal body. Once combined, it would be a far worthier vessel than the corpse on the other table. Prophet unstrapped the metal legs from the operating table to begin slipping the skin suit on the metal body. The suit was loose and easy to manage, but with the application of some heat it would tighten and fuse with the metal body, allowing it to mimic the feeling of skin and flesh.
The body’s grinning, silvery skull twitched. The man was waking. Prophet smiled. Today this man’s new, eternal life began.
“Divinity,” a voice interrupted. Prophet looked over his shoulder. A man in white robes stood at the entrance to the Garden dome, his face and upper body visible through the foliage. His expression was vacant as he opened his mouth again and spoke in monotone, his lips and words just barely out of sync. “Divinity, you are called.”
“I am not to be disturbed during a ceremony,” Prophet said, returning to the body. He sat it up and slipped its arms into the skin suit, carefully ensuring that each finger entered the correct digit sleeve. To finish, he flipped the face over the metal head and arranged the eyelids and lips just right—Prophet couldn’t allow this man to be reborn with lips positioned just to the left of his mouth, or eyelids that half covered his eyes when opened. The priest said something else, but Prophet paid it no mind as he sealed the back of the skin suit, laid the body down, and strapped it to the operating table again. Prophet then stepped back and allowed a gray box to lower from the ceiling far above, covering the body. The inside of the box would rapidly heat, causing the skin suit to meld with its metal frame.
“The Hive speaks of a core processor,” the priest said.
Prophet turned and focused on the priest, forgetting the man on the table before him for a moment. “Give me a summary before I decide if this is worthy of my attention.”
“Id reported to the Hive a recent scan of the valley settlement. She said that she scanned both the technomancer and his acolyte. The youth has the right gene—he may be a core processor.”
The heating box shook slightly; a muffled growling emanated from within. Prophet ignored it and stared past the priest in thought. Then he smiled widely, revealing teeth as white as pearls, and swiftly exited the Garden as the heating box lifted into the air again, steam curling around its edges. “Let us hope that, by the grace of the Creator, we are able to truly begin our divine mission. The world may finally be saved.” Prophet stopped next to the priest and looked back at his work. The first of the two operating tables before the Garden’s central tree held a corpse with the top half of its head sawn off; the second held the man that Prophet had just rebirthed. The man was naked, lacking genitals, and steaming from the heat necessary to mold his synthetic skin to his new body. He groaned and screamed incoherently as he strained to break his wrists and ankles free of their restraints.
Prophet’s smile grew. Finally, the path to save all lost souls was nearly before him.
“Tend to this one,” Prophet nodded at the rebirthed man before sweeping off into the ornately tiled hallway beyond. “See what the Hive can do to guide him toward full enlightenment; I will return to assist. But first, I must instruct Id on the coming harvest—we must ensure that the technomancer acolyte survives long enough to fulfill his destiny.”
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HARD, ROCKY SOIL crunched beneath Hannah’s feet as she crested a tall ridge. For miles before her, all she could see was rust-colored soil, eventually bleeding into grassy fields, then trees, then gray-and-brown mountains. She stopped at the ridge’s edge and took a breath—unnecessary, as she hadn’t needed to breathe for years. She wasn’t tired from her rough, fast climb. She felt nothing. Even the hot sun pounding on her synthetic skin didn’t provide a sensation she truly felt. She was aware of the heat because of the sensors that ran up and down her arms and neck, but that awareness had the distance of an old, faded memory. She could turn the sensation off, if she wished. She just didn’t see the point.
Hannah turned and looked back. Behind her was an enormous basin, too perfectly circular to be entirely natural, but years had caused its edges to be broken up into a series of steeply ascending ridges. Below her, stone-faced as he climbed upward, was Gabriel. He was larger than her, heavier, and often stumbled and fell as the dirt crumbled beneath his feet and fingers. He kept picking himself up and climbing onward, though, making up more ground than he lost. He would catch up with her soon. Hannah shifted her gaze to the center of the basin and felt a faded memory of tightness in her chest.
The Gates of Heaven. The silent, motionless city arose from the flat, dead land, composed entirely of white stone and curved surfaces, with an enormous dome at its center. Prophet told her that the city was beautiful; he told her that the beauty of the city surrounded by dead land, rising above it all, was symbolic of their holy mission. She believed him. But she still felt nothing.
Gabriel’s hand crunched the soil at the edge of the ravine; it broke under his grasp, and he fell again. Like lightning, Hannah grabbed his hand and pulled him upward, then dropped him to the ground, letting him stand on his own. He stood, neglecting to brush the dirt off himself, and looked away from the shining city.
Hannah stared at the city a moment longer, ran her red eyes up and down its empty streets as Prophet’s words played in her mind. He’d asked her to keep a close eye on Id with the guise of helping her, was concerned that Id was growing . . . erratic as her time to be incorporated into the Hive grew closer. He asked Hannah to ensure that the core processor made it from Id’s hands to him alive. She didn’t like the lack of trust toward Id that his words suggested. And though Hannah was entirely loyal to the Divinity, she knew she would not be able to resist if Id commanded her mind directly to defy the Divinity or his wishes. Prophet knew this too, which made her wonder if he actually wanted the core processor alive; else why not go himself? However, the intensity with which he had spoken suggested sincerity. Perhaps sending Hannah was intended to build trust with Id, show Id that she was in control.
Hannah just had to have faith. Faith that she couldn’t feel.
“We should start moving,” Gabriel said.
Hannah nodded. She positioned her feet, then began sprinting, each step leaving a deep print in the dirt. There was a path, technically, that followed old broken roads and highways to Id’s territory, but Hannah preferred to move in as direct a line as possible. Running through underbrush couldn’t injure her skin; running for days wouldn’t tire her; climbing rough stone wouldn’t cut her hands; there was no point in taking the longer, slower path.
Thrum, thrum, thrum, thrum.
As she ran, the empty cavern within her began to echo with a rhythm, an ache that grew with each beat; she was leaving the reach of Prophet’s influence, and soon she would not be forced to obey his commands. Perhaps this time, his blessing would fail entirely and she would become mindless again. She didn’t know if she cared whether or not that happened.
Thrum, thrum, thrum, thrum.
Soon Hannah’s mind was as empty as her soul, her feet matching the beat within her.
Copyright © 2023 by David Ludlow
Boo Ludlow 