J-37 - By Tom Oliver
The figure in the shadow of the door was illuminated by the red glow in his eyes. They weren't eyes, but Infra-Red goggles, but they seemed like twin flames in the dark. I asked him: 'Who are you?', whilst I reached for the small canister shot in my desk compartment.
'I am J-37.' The voice was cold and metallic.
'J-37?' I enquired. My fingers fumbled for the canister. 'Which J-37?'
'J-37 FONDOR' he said quietly, 'The last of the J-37s.'
'How can I help you?' My hand grasped the canister, I now had to bring it up slowly.
'I want you to tell the people who I am.' A com-link was thrown across the room, very precisely, into my right hand. This made firing the canister very difficult.
'Who are you then?' I said, leaving the canister in the tray till I could drop the com-link somewhere.
'Turn on the com-link, now.' The door closed and all I could see were the two, glowing eyes.
'S...sure.' I stammered. I stammer rarely. I turned on the com-link. The canister seemed really important again. Play for time. Play for time.
'Speak about how I am different. How I am weak.' In the present situation, the word 'weak' sounded ironic. I decided to activate the security net with the keyword.
'I'll speak about how you are different, very, very, different.' The double 'very' should bring the guards in soon. 'You are the last of your type, a dead end if you understand.' I wondered whether I should use the third person perspective.
His eyes seemed brighter. Where are those guards? 'When most of the population decided to upgrade to withstand the pressures of time, you and the other FONDORs, did not. You objected.' I tried to seem calm. My heart was beating faster and faster. 'Whilst we were given the upgrade processes, to a higher state of existence, you remained unchanged, merely adding the apparatus to the outside.' The canister shot was now inches from the desktop. 'By the way, how did you... err... get past security?' I asked, almost rhetorically.
'Security is dead. If it ever was alive.' Those eyes could see me in the dark, but I couldn't see his face. He was giving nothing away.
'Yes... we know your problem with accepting us as, well, alive...' I began to feel the sweat dripping down my forehead. I sweat. Doesn't that show I'm human?
'You are dead. I'm am the last alive. The population walks only as a corpse. Soon human life will be gone.' The eyes spoke quietly and crisply. He'd removed security? Doing the job oneself was much harder. He could be bluffing or course. Maybe I should retest.
'Well I can assure you, I'm very, very alive, err... J-37.' I laughed, bitterly. 'You see, I, as the rest of the population choose to do, have still a brain and heart and flesh as you do, it's just ours are much more durable.' Maybe he didn't have a weapon? Unlikely. Maybe he'd run out of ammo? Long shot. I prefer better odds.
'Your flesh is not human.' The eyes were closer. They seemed larger in the dark.
'Depends on your definition of 'human', doesn't it?' Trap him in an argument. That'll distract him.
He shot me in the leg. My leg fell off and the wires, vessels and tubes were exposed for me to see in the light from the burning carpet.
'Was that necessary?' I ask. Turning off pain from that region. I flicked the canister up and shot him where his torso should be. The bullet must have hit him. I hear his breathing change. 'You can't live long now!' I exclaim, rising from the padded seat.
'You... will die... with me.' My chest explodes in flames, the seat begins to burn.
'This is very unreasonable.' Just don't shoot the head, please. Not the head. Everything else is rebuildable. Not the head. I rise and stagger around the desk into the dark. 'I will have to finish you! You are the last of your kind. Humanity doesn't need you.'
'Humanity... dies with me.' His third shot takes out the left side of my head. My memories.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
'Who are you?' I enquire. My body is shattered and I can only see an outline from the flickering flames.
'I am your friend, android.' The red eyes approach and bid me sit on the smouldering desk. I obey. I can't access memory. Maybe there is a problem. I have no left side to my head! Who did this to me? What are these eyes?
'I am the past. I leave you, friend.' The red eyes sink down toward the ground.
Someone is lying slumped on the ground. He looks old and odd. He seems to be made of only organic materials. 'Who are you... friend?' I said, quietly. The corpse doesn't respond.
Who is he?
Copyright Tom Oliver 1998
