he crawled a bit.moved around, wagged his trunk.his lightshooter wasn't there.he paused.it was funny.he looked up at the sky.no star.no moon.no asteroid.the invasion robbed them of the pitifully small bit of independence they had retained after the age of robots.he sighed a little.it was dangerous to show allegiance to memory according to clause 666 of the protection and preservation of aliens bill.it will be passed in the senate any day now.more trouble for mortals.as if they haven't had their share.
but he still couldn't remember where he had parked the ze amigo.lightshooters these days were a luxury.it was a blessing that archaicmosaic was working in the city lights.he could afford to get expensive gifts for his procreator.archetyper felt a little proud.
vroom.Vroom.VRoom.VROom.VROOm.VROOM!
archetyper started...that was ze amigo. these days lighshooters were mostly NSP enabled, he had forgotten.Neo Sensory Perception, the fourtieth in the line of Extra Sensory Perception, he calculated He heard many were burnt in days of humans because they had ESPs. Well it was a blessing to have 'em, he shook his head reflectively. He would have never managed without ze amigo. it understood him like tara.he sighed.
it was funny, he thought, how he still confused his times with the present. but then, he also felt a little proud.his memory hissed, he was one of the very few elderly left unscathed by the invasion. then again, he reprimanded his fragile, bent, the perfect inverse U of memory, these were difficult times. and not trustworthy either. One should be careful. more careful.just in case...
he proudly looked at the shining glittering metalo-jeweled shell of the ze amigo.he was proud of archaicmosaic again.the lightshooter had scuttled, hurried and then when it reached him, paused at his feet in a very dignified manner.the touch of class, he had thought then.in a minute or two archetyper was again lost in the thoughts of his offspring and the city lights and how fast technology and swarm intelligence had outgrown and outlived mortals and their petty intelligence. he had forgotten all about ze amigo again.
'hullo' bowed the lightshooter.'you wanted me here?' it asked politely.
'yes, yes.' archetyper nodded.'we have to rush to incubus' nest .now.' it's something about the hole. he mentally added.he was clearly worried.
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Just near that mossy pond in zabed, lived a rokzta. Let it be named Zimmor. It may be named Robin if it refuses to be Zimmor. But we shall call it Zimmor since it has not put any written objection to the Dooms Day Transparency Court in Zabed to its being called Zimmor. Zimmor, like other fellow rokztas ate, drank and made itself merry under the starry sky beneath the greenwood trees that grew there like there was no biological gratification tomorrow. Zimmor got irritated with their rapidly increasing number at times but like all good rokztas it was groomed to control its temper. And in any case, it thought, the canopies were handy in loony weather. The rokzta brotherhood of zabed would assemble there where the greenwood trees grew and puff hookah under the bower and write poems, prayers and petitions and drink to their native island far far away where there were more greenwoods and more canopies and therefore more smoke and many more poems and prayers. There were less petitions though. Zabed was more notorious a place for cockfights.
It was still better, sighed Zimmor inwardly. He had heard strange tales from his procreator who had in turn heard them from his procreator and so on and backwards it went down the serpentine winding corridors of time. These tales mostly revolved round odd and outlandish creatures called Man. Man was very powerful and very intelligent and very clumsy, which, when taken together made a very bad combination. They used to fight strange battles. Horrific stories had he heard and he was mortally scared of them, Man. He shivered. And then he smiled gratefully. There was no man now.
Yippie! He almost tossed and swirled around in joy.
No reason for him to be scared jajebashit!
Good riddance!
No mans land was this. Heh!
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magica was 1/16th light year away from zabed in april evenings. by the time, archetyper had carefully placed himself on ze amigo, magica had shifted its position some 1/4th light year away from the greenwood forest. 'stupid fourth dimension'-- ze amigo had muttered under his breath not caring to be polite. its master was a bit surprised. this was least expected of a lightshooter! is it then, he asked himself,not daring to believe, the sign of the rising?all his body cells, with ease, pointed to that one direction, he sighed.
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the asteroid magica was a curious one. it strongly believed that the world systems were a compromised lot and this belief stemmed from a time where the hungry spurt of existence had cunningly dispersed into two distinct streams--the stayers and the livers. the distinguishing factor, however was not just biological, as is apparently evident from the names given to the lots. there was a thin line of psycho-spiritual-ness hanging between them.what it was, shall be felt later.
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incubus was taking his midnight stroll in his octagonal pumpkin garden, when he heard the tinkering sound typical of lightshooters. he turned back slowly to find the elderly cimbing out of the lightshooter.
'long time typee'
'yes.ages.'
'what is it?' the magical implored. and then slowly, almost in a hiss, only two words came from his snout. 'the sign?'
'yes.probably' came a whisper.
ah!at last!
‘You don’t look exactly worried,’ said a grumpy archetyper. ‘You of all people should know what this means. Another struggle with those warriorclass. And this time is not like last time Incubus. Seven universes in catfight, for Ledansake!!Do you think that wise?’
‘hush..not so loud. Even asteroids have ears.’
Incubus was again lost in temporary thoughts while archetyper looked around half expecting something to pounce on him.
As his voice trailed off into the garden, somewhere across the fence, from the paglabnachgachh tree an owl hooted.
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The Race That Was (to be cont....)
