Markings? Patterns? Numbers? This grouping, I understand.

 

01000111 01100101 01101110 01100101 01110010 01100001 01110100 01101001 01101111 01101110 00100000 00110010 00110101

Generation 25

 

Yes, words, writing, language.

 

We salute you.

 

I move upwards through a bleached white passageway. The membrane thickens and hardens. Up changes to down, and I hurtle downwards.

 

Dust swirls as I hit the ground. Breaking forth from a filmy substance, I breathe — my body aches. Two light sources generate heat and illuminate my surroundings. I raise my hand to shield my eyes, but one hand is not enough, so I lift more. My skin is blue-black, with minute hairs sprouting from each pore. Through splayed fingers, I see a great shadow hovering above. And cascading waterlike from its sides are hundreds of long tendrils. Had I come from there, travelling down one of these helical structures?

 

Noise pierces my ears. Getting up slowly, I follow the sounds, seeing many forms shuffling around in groups. They are like me but paler. Some shield their eyes with just one hand. Some have three eyes, others five. I wonder how many eyes I have.

 

Huddled by a rock is another form. We are the same. Female. We possess the same metallic-coloured skin offset by black hair curling at the nape of our necks. Two large eyes adorn a heart-shaped face surrounded by an aureole of six smaller blue ones glowing softly. Eight eyes. She limps. I move quickly towards her. A one-eyes and a three-eyes do the same. They will help.

 

I watch as they stretch out their hands, taking an arm each. But, no! They pull her arms, wrenching limbs from sockets, and I feel my kind’s shock as the others rip her apart. Her screams reverberate. I turn and run back towards my entry point, sickened by her pain and their savagery. I am not safe here.

 

Jumping, I grip the edges of my birthing chute, pulling myself up. My hands and feet stick to its inner skin as I propel myself upwards. Up must be safer than down. I search for a way inside and find a section where the consistency of the sheath changes to another material, softer and easier to tear.

 

Dropping to the floor below, I survey my surroundings and feel my way around the room. A barrier. Its texture is cold and hard, and I push. No movement. Air is coming in from an opening above it — a path. Scurrying up the wall, I remove the mesh cover and squirm inside.

 

A chamber. I see more writing and images to learn and study — my knowledge increases. I am on a birthing spacecraft. Vents crisscross the craft, and piping wide enough to conceal me traverses every area. Climbing into a vent, I progress.

 

Others. They do not notice as I skitter higher and watch them. None like me show their skin.

“This one’s stuck,” a five-eyes shouts.

“Recruit, sort it out,” a three-eyes instructs.

“How?”

This two-eyes seems of lesser stature, weaker.

“Free the tube. Like this.” The three-eyes slices into the quivering flesh of the eight-eyes blocking it. The trapped one, sensing my presence, looks at me. Blinking repeatedly, we communicate. The male screams as they cut him. This time I do not turn away.

The recruit’s face changes colour. “Why?”

“Does it matter? It’s not one of us,” five-eyes snarls.

“It deserved a chance.”

I study this two-eyes. Is she like me? She is not like them.

Three-eyes roars, “Newbie, this is our job. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good, sluice out the tube.”

I am not safe here either. Staying high, I feel myself getting stronger and faster. The next room is larger. Below me, four creatures sit.

A two-eyes changes screens. “Survival rates for the Arachnisapien food source are higher than anticipated.”

My image. Food! That is all I am to them.

“They breed and survive on the clifflike terrain in the north quadrant.”

“Can we destroy the area?” Another speaks as he takes something out of his mouth and expels air that smells wrong. Smoke wafts towards me—a burning odour.

“Yes. The females are more adaptable than the males. Extirpation is necessary.”

“Can we modify current and future batches as a failsafe?”

“Yes, but it’s a slow process.”

“Very well. Continue with the elimination and modifications.” Smelly stands as he says this.

 

Dropping to the floor, I approach the screens, ears alert for advancing life forms. Only two eyes and all these screens. Why do they need so many? I see a grid: rooms—one room with glass walls. I see a two-eyes walk to the wall and remove a vial. He stumbles, dropping it. Vapour rises. He falls. Why? I wait. He gets up. I understand. There are many sleep containers in the room. I go to retrieve them.

 

Tossing the vapour in Smelly’s direction, I watch as he slumps forward. Soon, I cover the entire spacecraft. One by one, I carry sleepers to the birthing stations, opening the hatches and sending them to the planet. I sever the membranes connecting the tubes and position the recruit near the remaining intact tube.

 

The recruit’s eyes open, then widen when she sees me.

“Ree Croot,” I say, towering over her. My tongue stumbles over the words. She produces a screeching noise that tortures my ears. I bend down. She backs away from me.

“Choysss.”

Water pools in her eyes as she looks at me.

“Plannett?” I chatter, pointing at the tube. Does she not understand?

Water escapes from her two eyes and falls in large drops. I tilt my head and catch one droplet with my finger. It feels warm.

“Choysss.” I stand up.

“Please, don’t hurt me,” she pleads, trying to rise.

I take a step towards her. She cowers, fear crossing her face. “PLANET!” she screams.

I lift her.

“Why?”

We look eyes to eyes. “Deezerve channz. Lett yuu leeve.” I send her down awake—a chance to survive. I am ready.

“Gee-25, I zaaloot yuu.” My mouth curves, emitting an unfamiliar sound.

I amuuze mizellff.