Descending Road - WE WILL SHARE MANY THINGS by Dana W. Paxson

WE WILL SHARE MANY THINGS

1562 4D

Arlen looked into his great chamber from a side door. His recent portrait hung on the wall opposite him: round face, with dark curly hair, dark brown eyes, and well-defined features. Two dimples, side by side, marked the portrait’s chin; Arlen now had three. On the wall by the great knotted steel door to Arlen‘s left hung a cubical box, just the size to hold a human head. Arlen smiled.

He walked in and faced the box. A stiff metallic curtain hung across its front. Below the box was arrayed a set of knobs and buttons, connected through a conduit into the box’s bottom. Arlen pressed a button, and the metallic curtain opened. Before him was the sleeping face of Tariall.

“Beautiful, Progarnes,” Arlen said softly. He took the leftmost knob between two fingers and turned it gently to the right.

The eyes opened slowly. They widened in fear, seeing Arlen; the mouth worked, drooled a little, and the tongue licked the parched lips. When Arlen did nothing, the eyes began to glance around the room, and the lips moved. “What did you do to me?” Tariall‘s voice was perfect.

“Welcome to your new home,” Arlen said softly.

“Why didn’t I die?” The face scowled, the lips trembled. “Why didn’t you let me die?”

“Why would I allow you that gift?” Arlen asked. “Here, let me show you yourself.” He reached up and disconnected the box from the wall — it was much heavier than he expected, and he staggered briefly — to stand in front of a mirror with it held before him.

The reaction was so gratifying that Arlen almost dropped the box on the floor. Tariall‘s eyes widened with horror; his mouth opened in a scream that could only reach the level of a soft, “Aaaahhh, aaahhh, aaahhh.” So odd it sounded that Arlen started to laugh, bouncing the box against his chest and making the long “aaahhh” come out with sudden shifts of tone. Evidently Progarnes had only provided enough air movement for a quiet voice. Most amusing.

Tariall still screamed softly; it was time to get his attention back. Arlen returned the box to its mounting, reattaching its fluid supply lines, and ended Tariall‘s wail by turning the second knob from the left all the way to the right.

Tariall‘s eyes rolled up in their sockets; his mouth fell open, leaving his jaw resting on the bottom of the box. Arlen returned the knob to a center position, reducing the pain signal insertion; slowly Tariall closed his mouth and opened bleary eyes.

“You see, I will make sure that you and Indrio see each other from time to time. I have lived over four hundred years, and I will make certain that you live the next four hundred with me, in this room. We will share many things.” Arlen savored this moment. He removed from his pouch a small globe of crystalline plastic, and held it up before the swollen face in the box. Two ovoids lay embedded in the plastic, veined and ducted, reddish in hue. “Tariall, your testicles.” Arlen placed them on the top of the box and left the chamber. Let the poet ponder that.

Story List	SURPRISE ME	Author Page
USER SURVEY	PUZZLE ME	MAKE ELM MARK

HOVER Lucida Bright BARE	HOVER Lucida Bright FULL	HOVER Palatino Linotype BARE
HOVER Palatino Linotype FULL	HOVER Times New Roman BARE	HOVER Times New Roman FULL
PAD Arial BARE	PAD Arial FULL	PAD Lucida Bright BARE
PAD Lucida Bright FULL	PAD Times New Roman BARE	PAD Times New Roman FULL


	WE WILL SHARE MANY THINGS 1562 4D Arlen looked into his great chamber from a side door. His recent portrait hung on the wall opposite him: round face, with dark curly hair, dark brown eyes, and well-defined features. Two dimples, side by side, marked the portrait’s chin; Arlen now had three. On the wall by the great knotted steel door to Arlen‘s left hung a cubical box, just the size to hold a human head. Arlen smiled. He walked in and faced the box. A stiff metallic curtain hung across its front. Below the box was arrayed a set of knobs and buttons, connected through a conduit into the box’s bottom. Arlen pressed a button, and the metallic curtain opened. Before him was the sleeping face of Tariall. “Beautiful, Progarnes,” Arlen said softly. He took the leftmost knob between two fingers and turned it gently to the right. The eyes opened slowly. They widened in fear, seeing Arlen; the mouth worked, drooled a little, and the tongue licked the parched lips. When Arlen did nothing, the eyes began to glance around the room, and the lips moved. “What did you do to me?” Tariall‘s voice was perfect. “Welcome to your new home,” Arlen said softly. “Why didn’t I die?” The face scowled, the lips trembled. “Why didn’t you let me die?” “Why would I allow you that gift?” Arlen asked. “Here, let me show you yourself.” He reached up and disconnected the box from the wall — it was much heavier than he expected, and he staggered briefly — to stand in front of a mirror with it held before him. The reaction was so gratifying that Arlen almost dropped the box on the floor. Tariall‘s eyes widened with horror; his mouth opened in a scream that could only reach the level of a soft, “Aaaahhh, aaahhh, aaahhh.” So odd it sounded that Arlen started to laugh, bouncing the box against his chest and making the long “aaahhh” come out with sudden shifts of tone. Evidently Progarnes had only provided enough air movement for a quiet voice. Most amusing. Tariall still screamed softly; it was time to get his attention back. Arlen returned the box to its mounting, reattaching its fluid supply lines, and ended Tariall‘s wail by turning the second knob from the left all the way to the right. Tariall‘s eyes rolled up in their sockets; his mouth fell open, leaving his jaw resting on the bottom of the box. Arlen returned the knob to a center position, reducing the pain signal insertion; slowly Tariall closed his mouth and opened bleary eyes. “You see, I will make sure that you and Indrio see each other from time to time. I have lived over four hundred years, and I will make certain that you live the next four hundred with me, in this room. We will share many things.” Arlen savored this moment. He removed from his pouch a small globe of crystalline plastic, and held it up before the swollen face in the box. Two ovoids lay embedded in the plastic, veined and ducted, reddish in hue. “Tariall, your testicles.” Arlen placed them on the top of the box and left the chamber. Let the poet ponder that.