The Last Watcher - 1. The Last Watcher

I

It is morning and the rains have not come, again. The sky is clear. The star that warms Glandar is still low on the western horizon. Storybooks say that Mother Earth’s star, named for the Son of the Most High, rose in the east, but somehow that just doesn’t sound right. I can’t get in my head that a planet can rotate in the opposite direction. Yet, why would books lie? Although, some say they’re only stories and are not meant to be taken as fact, I still seem to want to believe in the words.

I am alive. The priest who passed judgment that I was to be killed on a rainy day has since moved to another village to live out his life in peace and comfort, but I remain condemned to die in a land of hatred and mistrust. Their book, the bits and pieces that have survived the centuries since the King and his lady left, clearly states, “If there is a man who lies with another as those who lie with a woman, both of them have committed a sin against the village; they shall surely be put to death by the stone.” Yet, I have not lain with another man, but they are not interested in small technicalities. Supposition is sometimes enough to convict the innocent.

I miss Conda though. I miss the way he’d laugh when he dropped something or bumped into something. It was more of a giggle than actually laughing, but it endeared him to me. The one thing he was good at was being clumsy. He excelled at keeping me happy. Nine years ago he escaped my fate and I still long for his voice. For nine years I have sat in this lonely room beside the priest’s house only being permitted to leave for a bit of exercise in the fenced yard when one of the soldiers is available to guard me.

Nine years is a long time to wait for a rainy day, but here at the edge of the Great Western Desert rainy days sometimes don’t come for a couple hundred years. Clouds, yes, we get those, and the dew is sometimes heavy, but not a drop of rain. Lately, sometimes I wish for a rainy day. A day to end this isolation, this loneliness. I do miss Conda, though, and knowing I will never see him ever again wears heavy on my heart.

My story began with my birth or, rather, sometime shortly after my birth when the priest announced there was something different about me. He would not say what, only that I was somehow different from all the other babies born that autumn. Childhood in a herders’ village is a time of play and yearning to be a productive participant of the village. Almost as soon as a child is able to speak coherently and follow instructions, they get to spend time with the calves, kids, and lambs. They become proficient in the unique cries and whistles to warn of eagles, lions, or raiders from the Moabite villages to the north.

I learned all of that, but my future lay elsewhere on the far side of the chasm, the forbidden land where the Watcher lives and the King and his lady once lived. It was the middle of my ninth year, a time when young boys start working with the night shepherds, when the priest came to our house.

After the usual pleasantries and a cup of my mother’s tea, sweetened with dried dew berries and then soured with a dollop of yogurt, the priest got down to his disgusting business. He was a kindly man close to my father’s age, maybe a little older. I remember he wasn’t a stumbling gray hair, but he wasn’t strong as the other men of the village.

“Timla has been chosen as the Watcher’s assistant,” the priest said. “The boy is a danger to our village, but too intelligent to go south to be taught by the high priests in the duties of a village pastor. I will come for him tomorrow afternoon.”

My mother cried. My father stared at me. To be set apart from your people for a potential violation of the basic tenets of our life and religion was worse than being declared unclean. Without a word he rose and left our home. I assume he returned after the priest came for me the following day. For all I know, he could’ve jumped into the chasm killing himself on the rocks far below. I remember little of my father other than that moment when I saw fear in his eyes.

Thankfully, my mother tried to make my final day in her home not as despicable as it might have been. There were no extra treats and she certainly didn’t prepare any of my favorite meals. How I would’ve loved to taste seared goat’s liver just once more. She kept me at home that night, even though it was my turn to help with the weaned kids down near the small spring where we water the animals. I knew she was embarrassed because her youngest son was different. In the days after my departure, I’m certain the gossips had a field day with their innuendos and filthy accusations, but that night we played one handed Hexo and she won every game. My mother! I was certain she was cheating, but as I watched her hold the skewer on her right forefinger before tossing it up in a tumbling arc toward the three nested hexagrams I’d drawn on the dusty floor, I couldn’t see what she was doing different than me. Yet, every one of her tosses landed within the inner circle, close to the King and his lady. She kissed me on the nose before the priest took me away.

The village’s youngest children vilified and railed against me, tossing bits of dung as I followed the priest out of the village toward the chasm. Only Conda sat on his stoop and watched us pass.

“He’s like me, isn’t he?” I asked.

“Yes, he’ll be making his own journey when the time comes,” the priest said. “There are places near the coast where people such as you and Conda are more welcome, but here among the herders, religion is all they have to give meaning to their lives.”

“You’re not from around here, are you?”

“No, I’m from across the Blue Sea in a small village of fisherfolk. I was sent to this village because of the Watcher. He needs a priest who understands some of the older books, the books not here in the village. Books that reveal more than these people’s religion allows them to accept.”

We set up camp beside the chasm at a place called The Widow’s Steps. They were ledges and boulders that provide an almost passable way down to the bottom of the chasm, not that anyone would ever want to go there. I learned as a child that it was a dark, dank place with strange piles of broken bones as if someone, or something, had gathered up the remains of the poor souls who chose to jump into the chasm rather than bear being different than everyone else. If you were unlucky enough to be posted out along the edge of the chasm guarding a herd of goats, it was said you could hear the cries of the beasts that lived at the bottom. No one liked to come near the Widow’s Steps at night because people figured if it was easy to climb down at that point, it was assuredly easy for something to climb up.

It wasn’t long before the sun set and the sandy, scrubby country around us fell into darkness and the sky was filled with countless points of light. The Red Eye, a cluster of eight red giant stars seemingly in close proximity, was just rising above the empty horizon. The priest continued to talk about things I would never figure out until years later.

The Red Eye was about to reach its zenith when two men, I assumed they were men, approached our brazier, glowing with dung chips I’d carried from the village, and squatted down opposite us.

“Evening, priest,” one of them said. The voice was foreign, not of our village.

“May God shine his goodness on you,” the priest said.

“How much you want for the boy?” the other asked.

“He is chosen,” a voice said out of the darkness. It sounded to me as if it came up out of the chasm.

The two strangers immediately stood and drew their swords. They were Moabites, as only Moabites carried long, curving swords for slashing their victims, which in many cases was far deadlier than a stab with a cattle herder’s spear, though a spear can be thrown from a distance.

“There is no need for blood,” the priest said.

“Show yourself, or the priest and the boy die,” the first stranger said.

“How can that be?” the voice in the darkness asked. “For both of you are already dead. Can the dead kill?”

Their swords began to glow and were soon too hot to hold. The strangers dropped them and I could see they were trying to run, but it was as if their feet were attached to the ground. Suddenly, it was as if a lightening bolt struck amidst us. The light was brighter than anything I’d ever seen. The noise was beyond hearing. The ground shuddered.

When I came to my senses the two strangers were gone and another man, a very old man, sat cross-legged opposite me. The Red Eye had passed its zenith and was slowly descending toward the forbidden land of the King and his lady. Red light from the brazier colored the white hair hanging loosely from under his cap. His mustache and beard, both as light as his hair, were one mass hanging like an old tattered rag from his nose. His eyes were bright and staring intently at me. Even though I couldn’t see his mouth, hidden under all the hair, I knew he was smiling.

His clothes were not like the robes and tunics the priest and I wore. He was wearing leggings of some sort, not unlike the Postman who comes to the village infrequently on a tall, black marsh horse. His top was a sweater similar to the ones the village women knit to sell to people of the coast. His hands were smooth like the priest’s, unused to heavy labor. He and the priest were talking in soft voices.

“He looks as if he’s ready to go,” the man said. “From this day forward I shall call him Pascal. Timla is the name of a herder. He shall be much more than a herder. Come boy, we have a long journey ahead of us.”

I was certain we were walking toward the chasm for the Red Eye was directly before us, but we didn’t go down. We just walked away from the brazier as if the chasm wasn’t there at all. Unlike the priest, my new master was not a talker. I followed him in silence trying to pay attention to where my feet fell in the darkness.

The Watcher’s house sits on an ancient river terrace high above a watercourse that is ancient in its own right, but has a small trickle of water nearly all year long. Behind, a tree covered ridge climbs toward an unseen summit. To the right, around a rock formation resembling a tall curtain a scant trail leads to a small spring that provides drinking and bathing water. As a desert dweller, I hadn’t had a good, soaking bath in years, but that changed as soon as we arrived. Below the spring there are two pools, the first for drinking water, the second, much larger than the first, for bathing.

“Strip,” Watcher said.

I stared at him because baring oneself before anyone other than family is strictly forbidden by the book.

“Come on, we haven’t got all day. Take your clothes off. It’ll be daylight soon and you certainly don’t want to show all the little wiggly and crawly things around here how skinny you are. Fine, I’ll do it myself.”

With than he started to undress me, much as my mother did when I was little, except Watcher was a lot rougher. I was too embarrassed to put up much of a struggle. Watcher was a lot stronger than he looked. It wasn’t long until I was standing naked before him trying to cover my meager endowment with my hands. He laughed.

“Use soap, you smell like goat shit,” Watcher said. He picked up my clothes and walked away.

I expected the water to be icy, but it wasn’t. It was almost warm. I put my hand in the other basin and that water was hot. I imagined a cold winter day and how good it would feel to take long, soothing soak. When I finished there was nothing to use to dry my body and Watcher had taken everything except my sandals.

Our star was just breaking over the horizon when I came around the rock and saw Watcher looking toward the dark horizon. There was a faint light moving slowly across the sky.

“Prometheus,” Watcher said.

I looked up at him, but he continued to stare at the darkness.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what that is?”

“What is a prometheus?”

“Prometheus is a rock about the size of Australia, which if you’d been to school, you’d know was the smallest continent on Mother Earth.”

“Have you been to Mother Earth?”

“Why would anyone want to go there?”

“I want to, someday.”

“Well, Pascal, if I were you, I’d get that silly dream out of my head real quick. Mother Earth isn’t what she used to be. A rock a lot smaller than Prometheus put a big hole in her many centuries ago. It’s not the same place in the storybooks.”

“Oh.”

“You’ll learn all of that in time. Come let’s get you dressed and see if Eight has prepared anything for breakfast as I asked.”

The Watcher’s house isn’t like any structure existing on our planet. In some ways, it resembles the castle of the King and his lady, which I wouldn’t actually see for another week, but on a much smaller scale and without so many outbuildings. All we had was a privy in a small grove of trees some thirty meters east of the house. Up to that point in my life, I’d never seen a tree, but I knew what a privy was, we had those back in the village for the select few who lived near the central square. We were poor and squatted at the dung heaps.

We went in through a side door. The Watcher called it the spring door because it led to the spring. The door that led to the privy didn’t have a name. Inside the there was a large room with two smaller rooms near the door to the privy. We slept in those rooms. My bedroom was plain, just a bed, a cabinet for clothes, and table with a chair beside it. There was a book on the table.

I didn’t get my old clothes back. Watcher took some clothes out of the cabinet and laid them on the bed. I stood there looking at them as if I didn’t know how to put them on. I didn’t. They were definitely different from what we wore in the village. Watcher was chuckling and he was going to make me figure it out myself.

I slipped off my sandals and looked at the first item. It was made of some kind of flimsy, white shiny fabric that was very soft to the touch and had three holes in it, two small ones and a much larger one. I looked to Watcher, but he only shrugged. I looked at it again and then thought about the relationship of the small holes to the larger one. I hung it low and put a foot into one of the holes and then the other foot went in the other hole.

“They’re underpants and you’re putting them on backwards,” Watcher said. “Don’t look at me like that. There is a difference.”

I pulled them up and they felt uncomfortable. I took them off and put them on the way Watcher told me. I looked at him and said, “Why do I have to wear this?”

“It’s what civilized people wear. I know you’re used to having things hang loose, but in civilized society, in which you may find yourself one day, some things are not meant to be seen, at least on most parts of this planet. Come on put on the rest of your clothes, I’m getting hungry.”

I was hungry, too. So I put on what Watcher called pants and a t-shirt. The t-shirt, made of a fabric similar to the underpants but more opaque and rougher to the touch, had PASCAL printed on the front and back in large blue letters. When I finished dressing and turned to go, I met a robot.

I know it is more common to say our robot, but the two robots serving the Watcher are not like other robots. Eight takes care of the household chores like washing, cooking, and cleaning. Eleven is there for technical reasons which I wouldn’t become fully aware of until Watcher died and I took his place. Mostly, Eleven remembers trajectories of the many celestial objects in our system and which objects seen in the sky have periods longer than human life, or in my case the life of a Watcher. There are other robots like ours at the castle, but we don’t interact with them because of the guarding demons that prevent our access.

Our robots are more lifelike than any others that interact with humans on this planet. They appear to be naked humans with shiny metallic skin, but although there is a head, there is no face. Sensory modules are arrayed around the head in such a way that, as I often thought about my mother, they have eyes in the back of their heads. There isn’t any hint of sexual identity or elimination orifices, even though I have seen them ingest what I assume is food. Their hands are changeable and they change them often depending on what they’re doing. When not doing anything, they are simply not there. It took me many years before I figured out where they went and even then, as now, I wish I wasn’t so curious. They go into a storage closet, or what I thought was a storage closet, and are transported to a place where manufacturing and repair robots maintain them. Their technology is obviously not of human origin, at least not of Mother Earth human origin. It’s almost as if evolution eventually leads to a robotic future.

The day I stepped into the storage closet might have been my death, but the robots knew I was there and transported me to their “facility” probably much in the same way the King and his lady were granted access in the early days of human presence on this planet. The “facility” is not on this planet or anywhere close from what I was able to deduce from the stars in the sky. The robots seem rather obscure as to where they’re from. When asked, they simply say, “We’re not from around here.”

II

I was with Watcher seven years before he died. It was a gray day with our hill bathed in clouds. He’d been sick for a year and then suddenly a stroke knocked his feet out from under him. Eight picked him up and put Watcher to bed. Eleven took me into the storage closet.

We didn’t go to their maintenance facility, rather we ended up in a place I can only describe as weird. There were all these people and, well, aliens, non-human life-forms, all biped, though; and, each and everyone of them was accompanied by a robot similar in appearance to their specific body type. We were inside a building, or I assumed it was a building. We were in a large room, bigger than anything I’d been in before. From pictures I’d seen on history databases Watcher allowed me to peruse after my studies, which practically went on all day from dawn to dusk, the room was similar to the inside of an auditorium or governmental assembly room. The ceiling was high and light seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere specifically.

“Okay, what’s this?” I asked.

“This is where you’ll learn to be the Watcher of Glandar,” Eleven said.

“I thought Watcher was teaching me.”

“He was only teaching you to appear as humans expect a Watcher to be. Humans are basically simple creatures, but very tenacious. When we first became aware of humans they’d already occupied most of the planets in their galaxy capable of supporting their unique physiological requirements. At first, we weren’t all that concerned because of some fault in their genetic makeup tends to cause them kill off large quantities of themselves at the slightest provocation. We’d already seen what they did to their original planet.”

“Watcher told me a large asteroid struck North America in someplace once called Kansas. I’ve read all the reports and seen the pictures.”

“Yes, well, humans do have a tendency to believe what they read and what others of their kind say, especially if they want to believe. No, humans finally used all of their nuclear weaponry and practically destroyed their planet, at least as far as supporting human life-forms. An asteroid did strike the planet, though. And, yes, I believe it was in Kansas. Come, let’s see about getting quarters.”

My suite was in a word austere. There was a bed, which Eleven made up every day, a chair at a metal desk, a functional bathroom with an uncomfortably small shower, and a small food preparation and dining area with a stool and table that projected from the wall. The floor was matte gray and soft such that it gave a bit as I walked across. The walls and ceiling were white. There was a window, or what I first perceived to be a window that supposedly provided a view out onto a barren landscape.

There was one other object in the room. It was an apparatus of some sort on the wall opposite the window. There was a place for me to sit. A helmet that had about a three centimeter cable attached to it that plugged into the wall. Eleven had me sit and place the helmet, which seemed to be custom-fit, on my head and I looked at the window, which became a projection screen. I watched images of people being people. I think they were called movies. It was an entertainment form developed early in the technological era involving stories acted out in made up scenes. We had plays in the village so I was somewhat familiar with the concept, but these were a lot more complex and the messages were definitely more subtle. Our plays dealt with the ethos that gave meaning and purpose to our lives. These movies seemed to be more for simple entertainment, something to keep the mind busy when there was nothing to do.

I watched movies for many, many days, probably weeks or months. Time wasn’t a factor where I was. I woke from sleep when beckoned by Eleven, I was fed, took care of my morning ablutions, and then watched movies. When there were no more movies—I think it was around 2890 when the planet where most movies of that era were being made, was obliterated by some sort of weapon in a galaxy-wide war—I was shown what was once called television. There were a lot more of those, including the cartoons which I enjoyed in the beginning when they seemed to be aimed at a higher level of intelligence. Television went on and on with mind numbing persistence.

When I didn’t think I could watch another image or listen to another trite saying, my programming began. I assume it was by subliminal stimulation. There was music in a variety of forms and a never ending collage of images. As I began to tire, Eleven came over and gave me something to drink, a drug I suspect to keep me going.

In brief moments before and after the sessions when I was allowed to have a thought of my own, I worked out that I’d been in that room for at least a year, maybe more. If I became belligerent, not wanting to go on because of the mind-numbing nature of the experience, Eleven would give me an injection and I would sleep and wake refreshed and ready to go, again. I seemed incapable of thinking there was an escape.

And, then, I began to see what I was expected to watch, or rather what I was expected to do. I was to be the like a lab rat without the maze. I was known to the nth degree by the B’na. That’s what Eight and Eleven are, or, rather, that’s what they call themselves when asked.

I returned to Glandar, that’s what they call our planet, at almost the exact moment I’d left. We might have been gone no more than a minute, the time required to step into the storage closet and the time to step out. Eight looked at me and smiled, or rather it would have been a smile if the B’na had a face.

The other thing I learned was my life expectancy was now indefinite. Watcher, I never learned his actual name, lived to 487, but he had a genetic tendency for a faulty vascular system that the B’na couldn’t completely control. His predecessor lived to 987. Theoretically, I could live forever, but the human brain has a strange adaptation that sometimes simply wills itself to die. You can get bored with life and that’s what I think killed Watcher.

The B’na took Watcher when he died. Not for experiments, they knew everything about him. They wanted his molecules, or, rather, that is what they told me.

The one thing the B’na couldn’t provide was relief for my yearning for companionship. They are friendly in their way, but you can’t hold a robot and feel the warmth of its skin against yours. So, I told Eight I wanted Conda to live with me.

I don’t know when I awoke, but I hadn’t opened my eyes yet because sensuous nerve endings were firing messages up my spine and into that ancient center of sexual excitement. There was a naked body pressed back against my bare skin. My member was enveloped between two luscious mounds of warm flesh. I took my hand and felt along the body of the boy only four years younger and knew my wish had been granted.

“You’re awake,” Conda whispered. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“When did you get here?”

“Shush, let me take care of you.”

He jostled his body only a little and I felt the tip of my erection poised at his entrance. He moaned softly as he pushed himself down onto me sinking my excitement deep inside his young body.

“I’m yours, take me,” Conda whispered.

And, I began to thrust not believing the sensations I was experiencing. How long had I waited for this moment? How many years had my hand been my only source of pleasure? Conda was with me, giving himself to me. He wanted this as much as I did.

My orgasm began deep inside me as his own shuddered through his beautiful body. I burst inside him. One. Two. Three. Four. I couldn’t count how many times I erupted inside the object of my deepest desires.

I flung myself off him and lay back on my bed and opened my eyes. It had been only a dream, but I was not alone. I looked across the room and saw a youth sitting in my chair. The face was familiar, but the naked body below it was not. I looked into the boy’s eyes.

“Good morning, Timla, it’s been a long time,” the boy said.

“Conda? What? How did you get here?”

“I don’t really know how it happened. I was cast out of the village as the priest predicted and sent into the desert. I fully expected to die, or at the very least to be captured by the Moabites and sold into slavery. Night came and I found a bush to sleep under. I was so thirsty, Timla. You can’t imagine how thirsty you can get in the desert when you have no water and no means of acquiring moisture. I knew I was going to die. I must have fallen asleep and when I awoke I was here without any clothes with my head resting in my arms on the table. What did you do?”

I turned my head and closed my eyes willing myself to wake so the apparition could fade away. I was alone here, as all Watchers are alone. Why would the B’na give me my deepest desire? What was I but a lab rat? I didn’t have a choice in my life. They kept me alive at their pleasure; and, as it was becoming clearer, they were allowing all humans to continue living for some obscure reason known only to them.

I opened my eyes. Conda was still there staring at me. I was nearly seventeen and he was still four years younger, but he was so beautiful to my lonely eyes, I couldn’t let him get away.

“Come, let’s see if they have clothes for you,” I said getting to my feet and looking down at the mess I’d made on the bed. I wondered if they would allow Conda to age with me or if he was doomed to live a natural life and leave me in death to bear loneliness for untold centuries.

“Timla, what is this place?”

“My name is now Pascal. I am the Watcher. As for you, I guess you’re here because you needed saving.”

“But what is this place?”

“This is where the Watchers live and I guess it is where you’ll live from now on.”

And, we did live together, but we did not sleep together.

I had seven years of education behind me. Conda still had a village mentality driven by his belief in the book and all that it did to control his life. Most of all he absolutely refused to lie with me. Although he was of age, fully capable to take a wife and assume the duties of a man, in many ways he was still a child and I held my temptation to pull him into my arms and love him as I wanted. I figured we had many lifetimes to learn how to lover one another.

Looking back, those few months we were together seem almost idyllic. Eight and Eleven mostly left us alone to do whatever we wanted. I took Conda over the ridge to see the castle of the King and his lady, which actually isn’t a castle. It is a star port for transports up to orbiting inter- and intra-galactic cruisers, freighters, and those magnificent liners I saw in the history databases. Age had not been gentle, but still the demons kept humans away. Each time I saw it, I longed for a time when the King and his lady might return from wherever they reside to save us from the B’na.

I guess from the curiosity of what little youth remained in him, Conda started reading the history databases on his own. There was a lot of material there from the beginning of history on Mother Earth through the extreme settlements on the moons and planets nearest to Mother Earth and outward. Glandar seemed to be one of the last planets settled, if we were to believe what was entered in the files. Frankly, there wasn’t much to do as a Watcher or his companion. When I was learning to be the Watcher, I thought I read a lot of the histories, but Conda was a bit cleverer than I. He figured out the cross-reference code system. I’d seen the letters and numbers in the narrow column along side, but never guessed they might lead to a deeper understanding of human origin and our ultimate future.

I was in the tub. That’s what Conda called our bathing pool at the spring. It was early autumn, a time when babies were being born in the village, and there was a chill in the air. Eight kept the house comfortable, sometimes even lighting the fireplace, which was gas, but I couldn’t figure out where the gas came from; one more B’na secret.

Conda turned the corner around the rock and he was naked. We’d gotten use to not wearing a lot of clothes, sometimes being naked for days on end. He said it made me look sexy, a word he’d found in one of the dictionary databases, a word that didn’t exist in the village. People of the village did not have sex, they made babies and at only one time of the year, during the Festival of Lights when the Son of the Most High came into our lives so many unbelievable centuries ago on Mother Earth. For one week men are permitted to lie with their wives. If a baby was the result of that union, they were truly blessed. If not, there was always next year or the year after that.

Although we both often became aroused when close, we had not touched in any way that might be considered sexual. It’s not that I didn’t want to, though. Conda was still held by the mythos of the book and all its prohibitions around sexual activities. I figured at some point he would come to see me as an object of desire, hopefully matching my own yearning for his body and the pleasures he could give me.

That morning as Conda approached the pool, I could see in his eyes our lives were going to change in many, many ways. He stood at the edge of the pool while his member filled out and became erect.

“I’ve found it!” Conda exclaimed. “I’ve found the King, or rather who we think as a king.”

“What are you talking about?”

“John King and his wife, Marjorie, were the leaders of the expedition that populated this planet over five thousand years ago. There was this huge campaign to populate this galaxy and the Kings were chosen to lead a group here to Glandar. There was this humongous war against the beings who controlled this galaxy and we lost.”

“What?” I asked. My mind began to absorb these facts, but everything Conda said was totally against everything I learned from our storybooks and what I’d gleaned from the history databases.

“Pascal, you’re a prisoner of war, a hostage, yeah, that’s what the B’na called the Watchers in the beginning.”

“But what about everyone else? The castle? You’ve seen the scorch marks on the stone.”

“That was from the beginning. There hasn’t been a human vessel in this galaxy in over five thousand years, not that we haven’t tried. There’s communication, or rather there was communication. That’s what you’re supposed to be doing. You’re Glandar’s contact with Mother Earth or wherever headquarters is, since Mother Earth isn’t habitable to humans.”

“Conda, come sit beside me, this is all too much,” I said as my mind tried to come to terms with all this new information.

Conda sat beside me and I put my arm across his shoulders. The air had chilled him and he sunk in against my warm body. I felt his hand on my erection. I looked into his steel blue eyes.

“We’re called homosexuals. I put what I was feeling for you in the medical diagnostician and it said we’re homosexuals. It’s perfectly normal. There are lots of us in the villages on the coasts, like where the priest came from. The book is all wrong. In some societies it’s banned as being against humanity, whatever that means. But, what’s important is the people of the village got it all wrong. That’s what led to everything I found this morning. It seems John King was what is called bisexual. It’s kind of like being able to do it with women, too.”

“Do what?” I asked. There was definitely too much information. We were going to have to have a long, long talk and Eight and Eleven were going to have a lot of explaining to do, that was for certain.

“This,” Conda said as he turned slightly and placed his lips on mine. His hand was stroking the length of my arousal and I was moments away from coming; another of the words Conda found in his dictionary.

I tentatively moved my hand into his groin and felt the quickness of his heart throbbing in his own arousal.

“Yes, like that, for now,” Conda whispered. “I’ve learned of other ways for us to enjoy each other, too. You’d be surprised what’s in all those books and databases. We’ve got a lifetime to experience the joys of each other.”

Our release was quick, but not quite as quick as our exit from the pool. Almost immediately after we ejaculated we were enveloped in a swarm of water bugs that normally lurked near the bottom of the coolest parts of the pool. They rose up around us and began devouring our offering. A well placed nip on the end of my member was enough to convince me we were not invited to the party.

We were giggling and laughing like a couple boys who finally figured out why young shepherd boys preferred watching sheep over goats and cattle as we walked back toward the house. We didn’t notice the lack of animal noise from the forest, nor did I take particular notice that neither Eight nor Eleven were about. At least one of them always seemed to be halfway to the spring with a bucket to fetch drinking water, but neither was there and I took no notice.

A movement from inside the house caught my eye, but I discounted it for it very well could have been Eight or Eleven. I was about to place my hand on the door handle when the door was suddenly pulled open. Villagers, both men and women, poured out of the house and surrounded us, striking our legs and bodies with their walking sticks.

“Blasphemers! Idolaters! Heathens! Heretics!”

The thunderous din was overwhelming. The people of the village must have found a way across the chasm and we were lost; or, at least I was lost. In all the confusion, I saw Eleven grab Conda and take him into the storage closet. After a moment, Eight looked me directly in the eye. I couldn’t tell if he was more angry than shocked. Then I felt a sharp pain in the back of my head and everything faded from my senses.

“Hear that, Abomination?” The priest asked.

That’s what they call me, Abomination. Yes, I could hear the rain. I imagined children out staring at the heavens wondering how clouds could drop water on them when they’d seen clouds before and no rain had come to moisten their parched lives. Finally, after nine years my story is to come to an end.

“Yes, priest, I hear your rain,” I said. “Just think of it, from this day forward rain will be the sign of death, not life, for this village.”

“Your threats are groundless, Abomination. You better make your peace with the God of All for you are to receive His punishment very soon.”

“You mean the punishment of man, don’t you?”

“You Abominations are all the same.”

“Yes, we have an organization that meets regularly.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’ll never know.”

They led me out into the rain and we silently walked toward the edge of the village, over by the dung heaps. I could see everyone had a good sized stone in their hands, their fingers nervously moving over the rough, wet surface seeking a good grip. After nine years, I was ready to die. I kept thinking of Conda, his steel blue eyes and his warm, moist lips upon mine in our first and last kiss.

There were no words as the people shrunk away from me and then I felt the sting of a rock striking my right shoulder. Another struck lower, obviously thrown by someone with poor aim; and, then my cheekbone under my left eye. Then everything went warm and fuzzy. Then I died.

III

“Pascal? Can you hear me?”

“Patience my dear Galileo, have patience. Pascal will wake when his mind is ready to accept his death.”

I didn’t dream. There was no bright light leading me to judgment. There was no long haired man in a bright white robe pointing downward, rejecting my entrance to heaven. There was only a black emptiness.

My eyes flashed open and were bathed in a warm glow.

“Pascal, it’s me, Galileo. You remember don’t you?”

“He doesn’t remember your renaming. That came after, don’t you remember?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Come, Galileo, let him awake on his own. He still has many months of recovery ahead of him.”

“He opened his eyes. That’s a good sign, isn’t it?”

“Yes, a very good sign. Come, let’s go.”

My eyes were open, but I didn’t know if this was heaven or hell. I saw no one. I heard the sound of water, the hum of machinery. I felt nothing, yet my eyes were open.

As my awareness slowly awakened me from the deepest slumber I’d ever experienced, I felt the most incredible sensations on what I knew was my erection. At times warm and moist, to be quickly followed by gentle stroking, and followed by a warm, moist sensation I can’t describe. It was as if I was been caressed by a thousand soft fingers at one time. I slowly opened my eyes and saw myself disappear into Conda’s mouth.

Our eyes met and I couldn’t stop myself as the orgasm took over all my senses. Unbelieving my eyes, I watched my aroused member jerk as I burst into his mouth. When there was nothing more to give, I lay back and stared at the ceiling. I felt Conda come up and lie beside me.

“How was that?” Conda whispered.

“Where did you learn to do that?”

“I read about it in a book. It’s called a blowjob or sucking. There’s a lot more, too.”

“Conda, I know I died.”

“And how! You should’ve seen yourself. They really did a number on you, but One-Five-Seven said they’d put you back better than you were before. You should’ve seen the huge bolt of lightening the B’na made. Kind of like the time your Watcher killed those Moabites, but a thousand times bigger. The horrible thunderous boom was deafening and they brought you up into the cloud as if God himself had taken you away. It was quite a show. The villagers will be talking about it for years. One-Five-Seven promised it will never stop raining on the village. They’re doomed to perpetual downpour.”

“One-Five-Seven?”

“He’s my guide, like Eleven is yours; and, Eleven isn’t her actual name. She’s actually called Three-One-One, but then one of your predecessors shortened it.”

“Then you’re the Watcher.”

“No, there aren’t any Watchers, anymore. We’d gotten it all screwed up, just like humans always seem to do.”

I rose on my elbows and looked around the room. It wasn’t like my bedroom at the Watcher’s house. There was a window wall that showed a grassy slope falling away down to a small stream meandering through a flower filled meadow. I suspected the window was actually a projection screen. The scene was too real to be an actuality.

The room was stark with white walls and a white ceiling. The bedcovers were white. The furniture was white. Even my body was unnervingly pale. Conda’s brown body was the only thing out of place. His erection stood poised, waiting for me to take an interest. I wondered if Conda expected me to put it in my mouth.

“Pascal, they told me you’d be confused for a few days, so I don’t want you to feel obligated to make love to me. Let’s give us some time to get to know each other again, okay. Besides, you’ll probably have too many questions.”

“Yes,” I said feeling relieved I didn’t have to take him in my mouth. Something was missing from me and I couldn’t figure out what it was. I felt Conda’s hand on my chest and looked at it caressing me. I looked into Conda’s steel blue eyes and realized he was still the nearly fourteen year old boy I’d fallen in love with when we were separated.

“First of all, my name is Galileo,” Conda said. “One-Five-Seven gave it to me when we went to that place, you know, the big room you told me about; and, those movies. Wow! That was an experience, but you know what? I asked why they were doing it and they told me. They were making me compliant so I wouldn’t be a bother, but I kept asking questions. Then I told them I knew about the war, our losing and being prisoners.

“Pascal, we’re not on Glandar. They call this place Earth Vee Two, whatever that means. It’s like Mother Earth in many ways, but different, too. They said they could duplicate Mother Earth, but felt it was better to make a few improvements. This is sort of like a special prison where they send all the troublemakers. The B’na can’t kill. It isn’t in them to destroy another life-form. Yeah, they’re alive like us, but not like us in many ways. But, you know what, Pascal? They weren’t the ones who won the war. They’re only the jailors. And, we won’t die unless we very much want to, and even then they won’t kill us. And, we won’t completely die, either. When they took your Watcher’s body? They used his molecules to make one of them. He won’t remember being human, but he’ll be functional. That seems important to them.”

Too much information and too soon. I lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. I knew I died, but here I was lying naked on a bed next to the boy I loved. Was this a dream or was there an afterlife? Was this my own version of heaven?

“Pascal, I know this is all too much right now. Death to the B’na isn’t an ending, just a pause along the way. We don’t age, either. Well, not as fast, but if I get to where I’m looking too old, they’ll disassemble me and give me my previous body. It’s like death and rebirth. Kind of like what happened to you, only without all the tissue damage. It took nearly two years for you to come back, but you’re just like you were on that horrible day when the villagers took you.”

I looked at him unable to bring myself to believe anything he was saying. I wanted to go back to sleep, but he put his lips onto mine and we kissed. This was definitely Conda, or should I call him Galileo? I fell in love with Conda, but I did make him call me Pascal. Fair is fair.

“Sirs? I’ve prepared a light brunch,” a familiar voice said.

I looked up and saw Eight standing at the door. I knew he was smiling.

“He was watching me suck you,” Galileo said. “They can’t have sex like us, but they remember when they were able, before they were encased in that metal skin. It’s been like an eon ago, but they can still remember the feeling of an orgasm. One-Five-Seven told me once that he can still remember the feeling of elimination. You know going out and squatting at the dung heap. They don’t watch us do that, but they’ll be watching us do the other stuff, when you’re ready.”

“Conda? I mean, Galileo, I’m not quite up to all this, yet,” I said. “It’s all too much. All so new.”

“See, Galileo,” Eight said. “We told you to take it slow, but no! Not you! Now, you’ve made Pascal upset and I’ll have to give him something.”

“No,” I said. “Don’t knock me out or this might not be here when I wake up.”

“No, Pascal, we’ll be here,” Eight said. “We’ll be here for a long, long time. You’re still in transition and your revived body still needs a bit of work. And, your mind is still confused about dying like that and coming back. It’ll be a lot easier next time, you’ll see.”

My mind was reeling. This wasn’t heaven. Well, not the heaven in the storybooks. I thought of going back to the peace of the Watcher’s house and the peace of death after being killed. Then I felt Galileo’s hand on my shoulder. I turned and he kissed me quickly on the lips. He smiled.

“I’ll be with you next time and all the times in the future,” Galileo said. “That way we won’t be alone. You’ll never be alone, again.”

I looked out the window and it was raining. I looked up into Galileo’s eyes and smiled. No, this wasn’t heaven, but it was about as good as I was going to get for a long, long time.

THE END

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