Descending Road - WEARINESS LIKE DARK WATER by Dana W. Paxson

WEARINESS LIKE DARK WATER

There is no time to lose. I spring, my hands and nails out, ready to grab and subdue. The little creature vanishes like a dream, and I crouch groping in the shadows. This is unexpected. I’m not as fast as I thought, or else this little one is faster than so many I’ve seen.

It must be one of the street waifs of this gloriously ugly era. From my long wall station I have seen packs of these children take down fully-armed squads of soldiers and strip them to their bones, in minutes. Many died, caught in the beams and scything metal of the guns, but their survivors feasted on the gunners’ remains. Now I face one of them. There may be others.

I have no food to offer this – child. “Where are you?” I ask in Taranese. Useless, of course; Taranese, Wendridgian, Farhossch, Meiyandao, all gone with the Great Death eleven thousand years ago. The people since the Colonization speak dialects of Share, the Colonist tongue distorted over centuries by their tribalisms and wars. These children of the understreets rarely speak at all.

A trinket! In a high cabinet, I find a chain of cerametal jewels, translucent and pearled, set in osmium scribed and inlaid with ruby and sapphire glazes. “For you,” I say in Share, dangling it on a long fingernail, pointing in the direction I thought the little one went.

Nothing happens, of course. I lay the jewelry on my low table and turn to leave the room. A brief scuttle; I whirl, and the jewel chain is gone. A soft click from the entranceway, and I leap to find it closed.

I had thought these people a devolution of those from before the Great Death, but this speed impresses me. Perhaps these children are breeding into a new and ghastly race of predators like me.

Weariness rises around me like dark water. My limbs ache. It is time to begin the regenerative process, but I lack bodily energy to assemble the vats and tanks, and acquire the necessary fluids. I must rest, but the door troubles me: how will I prevent the child from returning and killing me in my sleep?

There is a way. In the entranceway I find the two great slabs of steel I set aside as bars, for some final confrontation cornered here. I draw them painfully up to the slots flanking the door, and fit them in, then I turn to the couch. For the first time in twelve thousand years, it is time for bed.

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


	WEARINESS LIKE DARK WATER 6303 Arcus There is no time to lose. I spring, my hands and nails out, ready to grab and subdue. The little creature vanishes like a dream, and I crouch groping in the shadows. This is unexpected. I’m not as fast as I thought, or else this little one is faster than so many I’ve seen. It must be one of the street waifs of this gloriously ugly era. From my long wall station I have seen packs of these children take down fully-armed squads of soldiers and strip them to their bones, in minutes. Many died, caught in the beams and scything metal of the guns, but their survivors feasted on the gunners’ remains. Now I face one of them. There may be others. I have no food to offer this – child. “Where are you?” I ask in Taranese. Useless, of course; Taranese, Wendridgian, Farhossch, Meiyandao, all gone with the Great Death eleven thousand years ago. The people since the Colonization speak dialects of Share, the Colonist tongue distorted over centuries by their tribalisms and wars. These children of the understreets rarely speak at all. A trinket! In a high cabinet, I find a chain of cerametal jewels, translucent and pearled, set in osmium scribed and inlaid with ruby and sapphire glazes. “For you,” I say in Share, dangling it on a long fingernail, pointing in the direction I thought the little one went. Nothing happens, of course. I lay the jewelry on my low table and turn to leave the room. A brief scuttle; I whirl, and the jewel chain is gone. A soft click from the entranceway, and I leap to find it closed. I had thought these people a devolution of those from before the Great Death, but this speed impresses me. Perhaps these children are breeding into a new and ghastly race of predators like me. Weariness rises around me like dark water. My limbs ache. It is time to begin the regenerative process, but I lack bodily energy to assemble the vats and tanks, and acquire the necessary fluids. I must rest, but the door troubles me: how will I prevent the child from returning and killing me in my sleep? There is a way. In the entranceway I find the two great slabs of steel I set aside as bars, for some final confrontation cornered here. I draw them painfully up to the slots flanking the door, and fit them in, then I turn to the couch. For the first time in twelve thousand years, it is time for bed.