"After Human" originally appeared in Tevun-Krus #35: Best of '16

Author's note from Holly_Gonzalez: A cyberpunk noir generation ship tale influenced by Mccaffrey's classic novel, "The Ship Who Sang" and the nine Muses of Greek mythology. 'After Human' is the second installment in an anthology I'm writing, in which humanity flees a dying Earth on a fleet of nine generation seed greatships to colonize the galaxy and restore hope for our species. Each greatship is piloted by the consciousness of a human woman who has sacrificed herself to guide, teach, and protect the seedlings and passengers in her care. Referred to quaintly as the Nine Sisters, some of the women fared better than others, and the experiences and adventures they encounter are all different. Some triumphant, some not so much. The Sister featured in this story, Melpomene, happens to be the most sadistic and power hungry of the nine. This is a dark look at the determination of one man to retain what he feels is important about being human when everyone else seems to have forgotten.

Note from AngusEcrivain, ye selector..: Darkly humorous and beautifully written, "After Human" is definitely my favourite piece from TK35 - well apart from my own... That's allowed, right?! With that in mind it really was a no-brainer to add Holly's story to this absolutely monstrous issue!

After Human

by Holly_Gonzalez 

Day 87, Year 183 of 309, 18:00

Interstellar Greatship Melpomene

Executive Sector Alpha

Sometimes the citizens of the greatship Melpomene refused to accept the truth. In flesh-space Chief Enforcer Finlo Grady tensed his blunt fingers around the armrests of his office chair. In the bio-network of the Share, he resonated a mass thought-send of disapproval to the Conclave.

"How many times must I explain?" His virtual message growled to the thousands of unaltered dissidents in thought-space. "PostHom isn't the elixir of eternal youth. It's an addictive crutch. Take it from me. Sure, I'm two hundred and eight years old, but my body's a mess. It doesn't give you immortality, no matter what the pseudo-science claims. I volunteered to become post-hom to protect and guide this Seed mission, and that's exactly what I'm doing."

"The Chief Enforcer is correct," sent Caretaker Sanvaris Neto, the only other First Gen post-hominid like Finlo and Sister. "I also disapprove of anything which would endanger the living and the unborn."

The citizens' reply roared in waves of data current at Finlo and Neto. Finlo weathered the crash with the obstinate rock of his will.

"You want proof of the long-term effects of PostHom?" Finlo retorted. "Look at what's happened to the rest of the altered First Gens. All of them dead or gone insane. Prolonged life isn't for everyone. Your mind weakens, even though your body looks young and healthy. It's an extended nightmare."

Sister's all-encompassing presence rippled a vast sigh through the Share, and everyone fell silent. "Chief Enforcer, Caretaker, your noble contributions are praised by all. Yet the wishes of the citizens must be considered. PostHom has been questionable in some cases, but my researchers have made excellent progress developing a new version. To deny our citizens the right to choose violates the morals of our society. I find the selfish viewpoint you both harbor disappointing, and thus I uphold the proposal for further assessment. The Conclave is adjourned."

The Conclave-channel disintegrated from Finlo's mind. Grumbling, he tore the bio-receiver from his head and pushed himself to his feet.

"Fuck this." Selfish--of all the damned nerve. Sister was far over the line to humiliate him and Neto before the Conclave.

Sister knew of PostHom's drawbacks better than anyone. Her physical body floated in a vat of it somewhere inside her Spire, her flesh constantly rejuvenated while her magnified consciousness directed the ship and the Share. She was as old as he and Neto were and just as dependent on the substance. Before she'd volunteered her mind and body to become one of the Nine Sisters--the nine women who'd sacrificed themselves to PostHom to guide the Seed missions--Melpomene's name had been Gwendola Harken. Just another bright-eyed young kid like Finlo had been at the time. Sister seemed to have lost her common sense. If so, the entire mission was in jeopardy.

It wasn't the first time he'd opposed Sister, and it wouldn't be the last given the idiocy of this distribution proposal. If Melpomene became a megalomaniacal goddess, he'd shove her back into place. Sister always had the final say, but Finlo and Neto were still part of Central Command.

A pale beam of artificial daylight glinted through the tall window--bright, but never as warm as a real sun. Finlo leaned against the glass and rubbed his chin. Seething wouldn't do. He had to remain vigilant for the sake of everything he believed in. Though his parents were long dead, the values they'd instilled lived on in him. He vowed to never forget them--and to help the children remember what being 'human' truly meant.

***

20:00

Entertainment Sector Sigma

The Workman's Well pub

He hoped for an uneventful night out after the spectacle at the Conclave. Finlo usually enjoyed time alone after a long shift, but he couldn't shake his unease. He didn't care enough to change out of his Enforcer uniform before heading to his favorite den.

The pub was almost empty. Only a few people sat in well-spaced intervals at the darkened tables and the bar. Stiff faces drooped over even stiffer drinks. Buzzing neon lit the shadows in a garish flicker, the air heavy with sickly-sweet vape plumes. Screens along the far wall flashed soundless clips from the latest bolt race matches. He watched in dull interest until someone approached from behind.

A woman's dusky voice whispered, and soft lips brushed his cheek. "I thought I'd find you here."

He spun about on the barstool and accidentally sloshed brandy across the counter. It was Jess Areval, one of the top-ranking members of his Enforcer team. He scowled and tried to sound authoritative. "Sneaking up on me is a bad idea. You should know better."

Her lips eased into a smile, and she sat on a stool beside him. Jess' dark brown eyes mirrored the neon's blink, reminding Finlo of a time long ago when he'd watched stars glisten over Earth's ocean. Ironic that eyes which had never seen such beauty resembled it. Jess was unaltered Eighth Gen like most of the current population. She was young enough to be his several-greats granddaughter, though physically they appeared the same age. Finlo's flesh was trapped by PostHom at thirty-something, while Jess was a very natural and radiant twenty-nine.

"I suppose you've come to watch me drown myself." He shot the rest of his drink. "See? Even a post-hom wallows in self-pity. Only difference is mine never ends."

She wrapped soft fingers around his hand. "Actually, I came to check on you. The Conclave was...interesting."

"Nice way to sugar-coat it." He looked away. This woman sure knew how to tease him, especially in bed. "'I'm fine. Sister just needs to get reality through her junk-addled brain. Neto and I will see to that."

She frowned. "If you don't mind, may I ask why you're so against the proposal? The majority of citizens want it, and Sister would never harm us. Why not let everyone have a chance at living as long as you?"

"This will probably sound stupid." He sighed. "I believe nature evolved us a certain way, endowed us with certain qualities. Our lives are limited, mortal by design, so that we don't get too proud, too hardened by failure. PostHom slowly kills everything noble in the human heart. I don't want our children to be corrupted by it."

"Our children...what a shame they have to die when it's within our power to save them."

He jostled her shoulder. "Hey, cheer up. I'm just rambling after a drink too many. You're too young to worry like I do."

She studied him through lowered eyelashes. "Come home with me. I want to be with you tonight."

He smirked. "I won't turn you down. But you really should find a man your own age. You know the routine. Get married, breed future colonists. You're wasting your time with a walking bag of hang-ups like me."

"Please." She kissed him, and his resolve crumbled.

He paid his bill and the tip, then he summoned a taxi with a thought-send through the Share. Soon they rode to her apartment in Res Sector Delta, not too far from his own flat.

The filaments lining the top of Melpomene's vast hull had long since dimmed to simulated night. All was quiet, no cars or pedestrians out. The self-contained universe of the greatship slumbered, and there was only the reassuring warmth of Jess' body next to his own. She was one of the few people he considered a friend, whom he could still trust aside from Neto. He put an arm around her.

She smiled but looked away, so distant in spite of her plea for his company. For such a young and attractive woman, she kept a lot of secrets.

***

21:17

Res Sector Sigma

It had been a while since they'd made love. He never pursued her, but he relished every moment they shared. Damn, she was sweet. A temptation he shouldn't fall for, though he never had the strength to resist. Her smooth body arched, head flung back, breath rapid as he kissed and fucked and savored her.

"You like to chase me?" He traced the adorable curl of her ear with his teeth and tongue.

"Always." She gripped his ass as he drove hard between her splayed thighs.

He slowed and pushed deep, as if he could reach her most secluded places. As close as they'd become, there was always a gulf he couldn't bridge. "Why? Don't tell me I'm the best you've ever had. That's bullshit."

Jess laughed and squirmed away, then she wrestled him onto his back. She eased herself on top and continued the ride her own way. Movement slithered through her, hips and breasts swaying. "You're the only person I've ever slept with. The only one I want."

"That's...you're..." Words failed, torn from his throat by the oblivion of flesh and sweat. He bucked and filled her with empty seed. So good, but hollow regret flooded him afterward.

She's fooling herself. I can't give her what she really wants.

He finished her off with his fingers, and they laid next to each other in a sweaty tangle of sheets and battered pillows.

The silence didn't comfort him. "This can't go on forever, you know."

Her chest rose and fell with a sigh. "There's something else I have to tell you. I hope you'll understand."

"Okay..." He propped himself up on an elbow to face her.

Her voice fell to a bare whisper. "I'm pregnant."

He flinched as if she'd struck him with an iron rod. "That's...great news. I suppose I should congratulate you. But why did you just say I'm the only person you've ever slept with when--"

"Because you're the father. I told you the truth. I haven't been with anyone else."

He staggered off the bed. "Impossible. I'm post-hom. I can't..."

Jess slid out of the covers and walked to his side. Street lights outside slanted through the blinds and painted narrow streaks of blue across her silhouette. Her breasts were full from impending motherhood, though she wasn't showing yet, the lines of her torso still trim and athletic. He envisioned a life--his own child--growing within, and he shuddered.

"Fin." Her nickname for him always weakened his defenses. She laced her fingers around his neck and pressed against him. "There's a lot happening--some things I can't explain yet. Let's just be happy for now. We've been given this miracle for a reason."

He turned away from her kiss. "What can't you tell me? I'm your boss, sometimes your lover. I understand you keep a few things to yourself, and I've never expected you'd stay with me, but what kind of fucked up game are you playing?"

"It's not a game. It's our future. I'll tell you everything soon, but there's a few things I have to clear up first."

He sat on the edge of the bed and rested his head on one hand. "If it's true...you must think about this child. PostHom alters the DNA of its users. The baby could have complications. You should terminate it."

"No. I want it as much as I want you."

He pulled her to him, his fingers knotting into her hair. "I'll support you. And I'll be a father, even if--" He swallowed. "There's one condition. You have to tell me what's going on."

"I will. Just trust me, no matter what happens."

He tried to laugh. "You've got a deal, kid."

They laid back down, and he held her, fancying a third tiny heart might beat between their own. He'd never dreamed this could happen. Conceiving a family was something he'd willingly sacrificed when he became post-hom. Part of him couldn't accept the baby was his, but he'd deal with that issue when Jess kept her part of the bargain.

The telescreen's quiet buzz soon lulled them to sleep. He usually dosed before bed, but he'd forgotten in the shock and disorientation of the moment. A bad judgement of timing. Withdrawal hit him with its all-too familiar ravenous need sometime before lights-on.

Finlo jolted upright and clutched his throat. Shit. His nerves and muscles spasmed, pain clawing his nerves like razor wire. Had to dose fast. If he didn't his body would deteriorate, cardiac arrest within minutes. That old visitor--Death, which he'd danced around for almost two centuries--loomed at his door.

He dragged himself off the bed, toward the heap of gear and clothing he'd shed in abandon earlier. A plentiful supply of injectors waited in his utility belt. He popped the case, nearly dropping it from his convulsing hand, but he managed to flick open one of the shiny metal vials. He positioned it against his wrist.

"There, bitch," he said through clenched teeth. "Drink your poison and shut up."

His arm numbed from fingers to shoulder for several minutes as the substance worked its hyped-up nano voodoo along his synapses and cellular structures. Death slinked back to its hovel in the shadows, though he knew it would haunt him again soon enough. Always close, always a reminder he was outside of the normal sphere, that he was something other than human. Post-hom. After-human. What Jess had said about his child being part of the future chilled him. If a child born with the effects of PostHom lived, grew, what changes might it bring?

The dose calmed his frenzy, stilled the agony, and he climbed back into bed. Jess slept, undisturbed and beautiful. He studied her a while--in many ways a stranger, and now the mother of everything he'd silently envied.

Unable to sleep, he turned up the Share-cast. The telescreen display flipped to a news brief, the anchorwoman's face pale and drawn. The glowing star-within-sphere logo of Central Command rotated next to an emergency ticker.

"This urgent report just in. The main Repository in Sector Delta has been sabotaged. Several hundred early-dev Seedlings have been abducted. Three Caretakers are dead, one in critical condition. The suspect is Mr. Sanvaris Neto, the Head Caretaker of the Seedling Corps."

The footage cut to security cam feed. A frightened Caretaker team scrambled away from an armed man--Neto--his pistol kicking in his hand, blood smeared across sterile white floor tiles. Neto held an embryo containment case in one arm. Once his rounds were spent, he fled off-camera with the Seedlings. The anchor returned. "Neto is still at large. All citizens are advised to be cautious until further notice."

Finlo's jaw pressed firm. Neto, don't tell me you're losing it too. I need you, buddy.

As soon as the broadcast ended, the inevitable Enforcers' alert from CenComm streamed into Finlo's mind. A flare of thought-send jolted him through his wetwired interface to the Share. Perfect timing. So much for peace and quiet.

"What the--" Jess groaned and woke, roused by the insistent signal. "CenComm's calling us to duty."

He spoke flat and hauled himself to his feet. "Yep. Like you said, there's a lot of shit going down. Suit up, Enforcer."

They donned their uniforms and leap-glider packs and hurried out the door. Once outside, the slender nano-composite tubes and wings of their gliders spread in wide fans around them. Finlo pushed one modified boot heel into the ground, and the built-in cold thrusters hummed in readiness. With a single jump and the spread of their arms, he and Jess soared into Melpomene's three kilometer high expanse, the only 'sky' many of the wretches aboard this so-called greatship would ever see.

***

03:20

Seedling Repository A

Research Sector Delta

Multi-rotor security drones drifted by as Finlo and Jess crossed the Repository foyer and rode the lift up to the crime scene. This wouldn't be a pretty sight.

Panicked voices spilled out of the tall doors ahead. Finlo and Jess entered the vaulted Seedling bank chamber, its curved silver walls lined with thousands of cylindrical storage pods. Within these slender micro-capsules unborn colonists waited for their chance to establish humanity.

Genetic variety relied upon the Seedling passengers. To steal or harm them was a capital offense. Neto was now Public Enemy Number One. Finlo anticipated a good hunt tonight, it kept his reflexes strong and his senses sharp. He just wished it wasn't his friend of two centuries on the wrong side of things.

The Enforcer team waited near the center of the room, a tight huddle of twenty silver-suited officers, their shoulders low and faces grim. Two Caretakers lay dead. Beneath a mural of bloody hand prints and long streaks of gore on the rear wall, the only surviving Caretaker drew gurgled breath. A medical team fussed around him, their coveralls shameless white beside the victim's crimson-stained lab coat.

Jess paled. "Good God."

Finlo glanced at her. He didn't believe in a 'good god'. Centuries of seeing this kind of brutality had long since pummeled the notion from him. "You okay, kid?".

"Yeah."

Such carnage, rare as it was, always disturbed Jess. More than once she'd cried on his shoulder at night. He always let her fall apart in his arms when she needed to.

He patted her back. "You've got this. Come on."

Finlo waved a hand to beckon the team closer. His steeled expression silenced all chatter. "Listen up. We have two objectives. Priority: retrieve the Seedlings unharmed. Second: apprehend Neto as clean as possible and bring him in. Under the radar. Do not engage any citizens. Are we clear?"

His Enforcers saluted and shouted. "Yes, sir!"

At the bank chamber's entrance came a shrill hum of cold thrusters and the scrape of metal against tile. The prim tap of chromed feet heralded Sister entered. Her titanium-plated torso glistened as she strode toward them, almond optical sensors aglow in her chiseled robotic face.

Finlo stiffened. No one had seen Sister's robotic avatar in many years. Not since the High Councilor was assassinated in the Gamma Revolt a decade ago. He'd long assumed Melpomene had permanently retreated into the Share. This avatar was the guise Sister projected herself into for more direct