shines in my baby’s hair. My baby smiles at me and waves her hands in joy. Benedictus from the Requiem sifts through the air around us.
Enormous titanium missiles, nuclear warheads trailing kilometers behind them like tails on kites, streak toward the asteroid fragments. Their solid heads crash into rock and iron, liquefy it and plunge deep. The warheads, milliseconds behind, follow and then detonate. Purple light, bright enough to incinerate watching eyes, devours much of the targeted rocks. No eyes are watching, however, not even Felix’s.
Music from Confutatis leads to a transition and an achingly sad Lachrymosa, something new, something opening in the mind of the new Mozart. And in my mind.
It is dusk. Dust blows across a rock-strewn slope before me. I’m holding something, a bundle. The wind rises, slams into me. I stagger and fall. Stones bite into my elbows and knees, but I cushion the bundle from the shock. Blood stains my sleeves, but I’ve kept the bundle safe. It is my baby.
I open the gray blanket. My baby’s face is pale and still. I touch her forehead with my lips. It is cold, cold.
Grief explodes within me. I clutch her and rock. A cry rends my throat, but I have no tears. This desert has taken my tears.
Felix sits motionless among his wires and blinking lights. The last chords of his brother’s music fade. A tear springs from the corner of his one remaining eye and runs down his sallow cheek. He touches the screen before him. The virus-globe detonation tic at the top of the screen stops. Felix touches the screen again. The tic disappears.
Lola puffs meditatively on her cigarette and stares at computer enhanced images of rogue asteroids exploding.
“You should really quit smoking those, my dear.” CEO Frederick approaches her from behind and stops a few paces from the screen.
She puffs again. “I have spares of everything in Genuflect tanks, Herman, just as you do.”
Frederick shrugs, staring at the lurid images. “I suppose it’s just as well our little asteroid ploy didn’t work.”
Lola faces him. “Nothing worked! Not even the self-destruct on the probe. Can we still trigger the virus from here?’
Frederick’s jowls wobble as he shakes his head. “No. The Mozart clone was our cutoff. No one can connect us to the virus. The down side is it is now useless.”
“Why? Couldn’t we cobble something together, a trigger of some sort?”
Frederick sighs. “The virus has a failsafe. Even now it is deteriorating. It will be harmless within two weeks.”
“That seems like poor planning to me.”
Frederick spreads his hands. “Well, we didn’t want to wipe all humans from Earth. We just wanted to inconvenience them a little.”
Lola stubs out her cigarette in a carved jade ashtray. “So no one knows of the virus attack?”
“Mozart knows.”
She looks up. “Can he expose us?
“It’s highly doubtful. If he tries, we have a dupe ready.”
“Alex?”
“Alex. He’s the only one who has taken direct action in this matter. If necessary, he will suicide, of course.”
“Of course.”
“And admit all first?”
“And admit all first.”
“How very thorough of you, Herman.”
Frederick shrugs, “Just standard operating procedure, my dear. I’m sure that you’ve made precautionary preparations too.”
Lola looks at him. “You have no idea.”
Frederick chuckles. “I’m sure I don’t and I hope never to find out.” He chuckles again. “Never.”
I enter Mozart’s private habitat and again walk between pine trees down to the lovely brook. I feel like I’m walking in a dream after waking from a deeper dream. Mozart is again sitting at the harpsichord. I stop perhaps a dozen feet from him.
He looks up. There are circles beneath his eyes and his face is drawn, but he smiles at me, a small smile. “Coffee?” he asks.
I nod.
We sit again beneath a pine tree and are quiet for many minutes, listening to the brook sing to itself. I sip coffee and turn to him.
Enormous titanium missiles, nuclear warheads trailing kilometers behind them like tails on kites, streak toward the asteroid fragments. Their solid heads crash into rock and iron, liquefy it and plunge deep. The warheads, milliseconds behind, follow and then detonate. Purple light, bright enough to incinerate watching eyes, devours much of the targeted rocks. No eyes are watching, however, not even Felix’s.
Music from Confutatis leads to a transition and an achingly sad Lachrymosa, something new, something opening in the mind of the new Mozart. And in my mind.
It is dusk. Dust blows across a rock-strewn slope before me. I’m holding something, a bundle. The wind rises, slams into me. I stagger and fall. Stones bite into my elbows and knees, but I cushion the bundle from the shock. Blood stains my sleeves, but I’ve kept the bundle safe. It is my baby.
I open the gray blanket. My baby’s face is pale and still. I touch her forehead with my lips. It is cold, cold.
Grief explodes within me. I clutch her and rock. A cry rends my throat, but I have no tears. This desert has taken my tears.
Felix sits motionless among his wires and blinking lights. The last chords of his brother’s music fade. A tear springs from the corner of his one remaining eye and runs down his sallow cheek. He touches the screen before him. The virus-globe detonation tic at the top of the screen stops. Felix touches the screen again. The tic disappears.
Lola puffs meditatively on her cigarette and stares at computer enhanced images of rogue asteroids exploding.
“You should really quit smoking those, my dear.” CEO Frederick approaches her from behind and stops a few paces from the screen.
She puffs again. “I have spares of everything in Genuflect tanks, Herman, just as you do.”
Frederick shrugs, staring at the lurid images. “I suppose it’s just as well our little asteroid ploy didn’t work.”
Lola faces him. “Nothing worked! Not even the self-destruct on the probe. Can we still trigger the virus from here?’
Frederick’s jowls wobble as he shakes his head. “No. The Mozart clone was our cutoff. No one can connect us to the virus. The down side is it is now useless.”
“Why? Couldn’t we cobble something together, a trigger of some sort?”
Frederick sighs. “The virus has a failsafe. Even now it is deteriorating. It will be harmless within two weeks.”
“That seems like poor planning to me.”
Frederick spreads his hands. “Well, we didn’t want to wipe all humans from Earth. We just wanted to inconvenience them a little.”
Lola stubs out her cigarette in a carved jade ashtray. “So no one knows of the virus attack?”
“Mozart knows.”
She looks up. “Can he expose us?
“It’s highly doubtful. If he tries, we have a dupe ready.”
“Alex?”
“Alex. He’s the only one who has taken direct action in this matter. If necessary, he will suicide, of course.”
“Of course.”
“And admit all first?”
“And admit all first.”
“How very thorough of you, Herman.”
Frederick shrugs, “Just standard operating procedure, my dear. I’m sure that you’ve made precautionary preparations too.”
Lola looks at him. “You have no idea.”
Frederick chuckles. “I’m sure I don’t and I hope never to find out.” He chuckles again. “Never.”
I enter Mozart’s private habitat and again walk between pine trees down to the lovely brook. I feel like I’m walking in a dream after waking from a deeper dream. Mozart is again sitting at the harpsichord. I stop perhaps a dozen feet from him.
He looks up. There are circles beneath his eyes and his face is drawn, but he smiles at me, a small smile. “Coffee?” he asks.
I nod.
We sit again beneath a pine tree and are quiet for many minutes, listening to the brook sing to itself. I sip coffee and turn to him.
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