ASMSG Scifi Fantasy Paranormal Emagazine May 2014 | Page 27

SFP Indie Issue 2
akin to the sound a lost puppy might make and then rising
until it was a banshee’s scream. “What was that?”
“It’s an experiment in another part of the building.”
“It doesn’t sound like anything I recognize. What is
it?”
He tossed her question back at her: “Does it matter?”
“Not if you don’t care.”
“It’s been going on for as long as I can remember.”
His matter-of-fact statement was like fuel to fire. Her
eyes flashed. “And you feel nothing? No anger? No pity?
You’re inhuman.”
“I thought you’d already decided that,” was his mild
rejoinder. “Isn’t that why the pro-humanist groups want
me killed?”
She hesitated. Somewhere along the way—she was
not even sure when—she had stopped thinking of Galahad
as an “it” and had started relating to it as a “he”. She had
attributed to him all the responsibilities of being human,
but none of its rights or privileges, in effect placing him in
the worst possible no-win situation. She recalled his
anguished convulsions in the sensory deprivation chamber.
How much pity did she expect him to dredge up for
another creature in a position no different from his own?
Very little. In fact, none at all.
She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. The anger
subsided. “Do they conduct experiments on you too?” she
asked softly.
He stiffened. Without meeting her gaze, he answered
the question, choosing his words with care. “I…yes, they
do, sometimes.”
“What did they do to you today?”
He averted his gaze and bit down hard on his lower
lip. He shook his head, said nothing.
“You looked like hell when they brought you back. I
want to know, please.”
He was silent for so long she thought he was never
going to answer the question, but then he spoke in a
measured, neutral tone. “They gave me a highly
concentrated sleeping pill and then injected a hallucinogen,
to induce nightmares. They wanted to see if I could
overcome the effects of the sleeping pill to wake up.”
“Did you?’
Another long pause. His reply was a softly anguished
whisper. “No.”
“How long did the experiment last?”
“About eight hours, perhaps nine.” He laughed, low
and melodic, but it was a humorless sound. “I slept all day,
and I’m exhausted.”
“Why do they do that?”
“It’s simple; because they can. Humans and their
derivatives, the clones and in vitros, have rights. I’m
considered non-human, in large part because of the
successful lobbying of pro-humanist groups, and I don’t
have rights.” Galahad released his breath in a soft sigh.
Long eyelashes closed over dark, pain-filled orbs as he

inhaled deeply. He opened his eyes and met her gaze
directly, holding it for a long, silent moment. The corner
of his lips tugged up again in a bittersweet half smile. “I’m
tired. I need to lie down. You can do what you need to do
whenever you want.”
“Wait!” She grabbed his arm as he turned away from
her. “You want me to kill you?”
“Isn’t that what you came to do?”
“Do you actually want to die?”
He waved his hand to encompass the breadth and
width of the impersonal and deliberately dehumanizing
room. “I’m not sure this should count as living.”
“But you’re not human.”
“No,” he agreed, his voice even. “No, but I am
alive…just like any other human. This isolation drives me
crazy. I know this is not the way others live. This isn’t
living.”
He looked away. His pain was real, his anger
compelling. In spite of it, she had seen him smile a few
times and wondered whether his twisted half-smile could
ever be coaxed into becoming something more. In silence,
she watched as he turned his back on her and walked to
his rattan chair. He seemed tired, emotional weariness
draining his physical strength. Slowly he settled into the
chair, drawing his legs up and curling into a vaguely
comfortable position. Apparently he had chosen to
deliberately ignore her. He was tuning her out and was
once again trying to find solace in the few things he had
left, such as a worn chair and his own company, trying to
get through each cheerless day and lonely night.
Outside, a rabbit, safe from predators in the falling
dusk, emerged from its burrow and hopped across the
small patch of grass in front of the large windows of the
suite. Zara watched as a faint smile touched his face,
briefly transforming it. His personality seemed wrapped
around a core that was equal parts weary indifference and
tightly controlled bitterness, but there was still enough left
in him to savor the small crumbs that life saw fit to throw
his way. If his quiet strength had amazed her, his enduring
courage humbled her. As she watched him, she knew he
had won the battle he had wanted, so badly, to lose. He
had proved his right to live, even though there was no
purpose in living in a place like this. He knew that fact
intimately, and so did she.
Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
“Zara, we’ve got trouble.” Carlos’s voice cut through
the silence of her thoughts, his habitual calmness edged
with tension. “Lots of vehicles incoming. Purest Humanity
logos. Could be a protest forming; they look seriously
pissed.”
She took a few steps away from Galahad. Annoyance
disguised flickers of anxiety in her voice. “They’re about
two days too early. They’ve been gathering on Christmas
Eve each year.”
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