Divinity Ltd.

The international ban on interspeciary genetic synthesis has not yet been abolished. With no hope of growing wings, mankind is still limited to machine based flight and so am I for as long as I choose to remain among them. Wrapped in a safety harness I wait for the plane to land. We make another round. Half an hour passes and I contemplate choking on one of those complimentary peanuts.

They process new arrivals looking for the smallest signs of infection. It’s all sterile and automated. At least racial discrimination is no longer a factor. Machines scan and probe everyone and afterwards you get to enjoy a rejuvenating cocktail. Helps with your jet lag. Also with any shy bladder issues. The urinary tract’s the best way to flush the chemicals they spike you with before boarding so you remain calm and quiet in your seat.

 

“How was the flight, sir?” a smiling face inquires.

 

It wants to appear friendly. Prerecorded emotions of some nameless member of airport personnel seem quite authentic for this sophisticated puppet.

I breathe into the identification apparatus to validate my passport.

 

“Damn long. That’s for sure.”

 

Three happy beeps from the machine confirm I am not a wanted criminal or a known terrorist.

 

“Anything to declare?” The face is curious, but still amiable.

 

“We are all going to die.”

 

The face stares at me perplexed.

 

“Sir? You didn’t answer my question. You didn’t answer me, sir. Sir? Can you hear me?”

 

“I have nothing to declare.”

 

“Thank you very much. Please report to the adjacent security checkpoint for further processing. Next in line please.”

 

The airport customs office android waves its artificial limb and smiles with a prerecorded smile. These funny slaves to the human race posses no actual emotions, but are capable of expressing them nonetheless. Thus to mankind they’re more in their image than any of my kin. Not being able to perceive or read emotional responses of my species, a human is unable to feel empathy towards it. In their eyes we are lesser beings than the artificial lifeforms they spawned. They wouldn’t admit it, but I’m certain they do consider themselves godlike to their puppets. Won’t be long til they deceive themselves completely, seizing to realize that artificial lifeforms have no sense of loyalty. That they have no obligation to morality. No concept of respect. And that they do not believe in gods.

I successfully pass through the next security checkpoint. There’s no way to conceal anything during the biological scan sensitive to any variation of matter. Every cell of my body has to be confirmed with the digital fingerprint in the global database. Implanted devices or biological modifications of any kind which haven’t been reported make you a subject for questioning. Everything is considered a possible weapon. A very thin line exists between having suspiciously high blood cell counts and wielding a cardiovascular explosive substance. An undiagnosed tumor and a weaponized parasite. Nonetheless the full-body scanner picks up on these slight differences. All changes to the body, all received medical procedures, even on a microscopic level, have to be legitimate, properly registered in the database and a license for acquisition of such had to be issued.

 

“Very good, Mr Ball. Everything seems in order.” The brown eyed woman at the security checkout desk looks at me up an down, admiring. “I must say, I’m impressed. No cyberprosthetics. No biotectronic augmentations. The body you have, it is… flawless. I’ve got to ask, what’s your secret Mr Ball?”

 

“A very strict and healthy diet.”

 

“Oh, surely.” She smiles and flutters her long eyelashes. “And that’s all there’s to it, right?” Under the desk she presses her soft bare toes on my ankle and explores what’s beneath the fabric of my black trousers. Moving her foot upwards very slowly she starts unbuttoning her shirt. But it’s just a flash from her imagination. An involuntary reading on my part. She’s really into me, I guess, and I must have been staring into her eyes for too long.

 

“I also exercise a lot,” I say firmly, to break the contact. I kind of wish I could smile back at her but she wouldn’t even be able to tell. “And recently I caught up on some healthy sleep. Also my name is pronouned: BA-AL.”

 

The taxi awaits me at the terminal gates. I instruct the android to take me to the middle of Lastfall Bridge. The machine registers my request, processes it and responds with a preprogrammed humorous routine about the origins of the bridge’s name.

 

“The large number of suicide jumps,” he informs me, “which have taken place there, actually had nothing to do with it.”

 

He says something about the autumn of a specific year in a decade of some century I don’t really give the slightest fuck about. But the android doesn’t care if I don’t laugh. It’s an old model. Not designed to handle the driver-passenger interaction that well. His conversation options are limited and he goes on and on about the architect and the river, and the modernization works the authorities approved for next year and so, and so…

I order the taxi to stop at the middle of the bridge. I get out and the autonomous driver bids me farewell with a preprogrammed punch line:

 

“Don’t do it, sir! You’ve got your whole life ahead of you! Ha, ha!”

 

It takes the android exactly three more ‘Ha, ha”s to finalize expressing his false sense of humor and the car drives off. Not wanting to waste any more time on this crude planet I climb over the railing and spread my arms. Beneath the bridge black smoke gathers.

Then this surprise hesitation hits me. I failed here on Earth. The others will reject me. There will be a trial. I will be marked. If I go through with it I am lost, but remaining here is out of the question. What other choices do I have?

Now I notice I’m standing there for far too long. People are gathering around me. Taking pictures. Gasping and looking around for cameras. Trying to figure out if this is for real or just a scene from some show. I don’t care. I came this far. I can take my time. Maybe I’ll figure something out. The smoke under the bridge starts to form a diamond shaped cloud. A plum of blue light from below hits my eyes.

 

“Stop!” I hear a loud cry from behind. Some woman jumps out of a black car. “Get down from there!”

 

She’s next to me in a heartbeat, grabbing me by my coat and pulling me down. I flap my arms in the air, trying to regain equilibrium.

 

“Let go! You don’t understand!”

 

She’s exceptionally strong for a woman and pulls again, harder. I fall and land at her feet.

 

“What the hell were you thinking?” Her voice is almost sympathetic.

 

“Why did you do that?!” I scream. “Let go of my fucking coat!”

 

“That’s a little bit rude of you, ain’t it?” She lets go of the coat but presses down on my arm and shoulder keeping me down on the ground. “I just saved your life.”

 

“Did anyone ask you to?” I still struggle. I get up on one knee but then my leg collapses. “Aaarrrrhh!”

 

“Are you okay?”

 

“Holy shit. I think I… I think I twisted my ankle!” I cry in horror and look to the sky. “I twisted my goddamn ankle!”

 

“Well, it’s your fault, not mine,” she says with only a slight shade of guilt. “It’s not like you broke it. You’ll be alright.”

 

“But I… I’ve never… Not one scratch, no bruise… Not a bone broken… Pain. I’ve never felt it.”

 

“Is that so?” She chuckles. “So how does it feel, eh?”

 

“Not… good. It’s very… not good.”

 

“Welcome back to earth, my friend. Whatever shit you were high on, I think it’s wearing off.”

 

I turn my eyes away from the sky, look at her and realize she’s apparently an officer of the law. I feel a cold touch of polymer handcuffs on my wrists.

 

“What are you doing?” I ask.

 

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m taking you into custody.”

 

“Why? I haven’t done anything! Take these off.”

 

“You kidding? Or just playing dumb?”

 

“What?”

 

“Fucking tourists… ” She shakes her head. “Within Continental Union borders suicide is against the law.”

 

 

T.B.C.

 

Borys Viktor