Ticked Down Turbo

“The end!” said Big Rehoboth.

The travelers had been plumbing the monolith for an hour, sidestepping cave-ins. Illumination came from Xoz and the walls, where weird smears of uncanny tint punctured the deep grime. As the brined larder was en route to the data dock, Lina-2 permitted a detour, but Big Rehoboth was in the throes of autobiography, and forgot to mention the larder contained only guano. Stale feathers pocked the mighty deposits, and calcified filth spilled into the hall, where parrots fluttered, unashamed of their lineage.

Big Rehoboth mistook the raw silence for legitimate interest.

“Taube donated my stores to The Hunky Punks, who got used to me. The rumors are true: I am a bird sanctuary!”

Xoz watched, transfixed, as new cloacae stamped their imprimatur upon the ancestral bedrock.

“I can taste the floor,” he said.

Tippi was on the roof, tucked in a stone groove.

She remembered falling asleep on Xoz. Lina-2 was downstairs, downloading the rest of history. The memory crown required a night on the data dock, an exotic chunk of pink mineral at Big Rehoboth’s nadir. Tippi wasn’t sure how it worked, but crystals were involved.

She found Xoz at the skyscraper’s edge. He was surrounded by artifacts: masonry, crockery, and the oxidized bones of an age-old dinette set.

“Yo, Boneless One! Why’d you put me down?”

“Hey there, Tips. I’m robbing Big Rehoboth.”

“Oh?”

“I’ll boost anything that survives the drop. One must field test their spoils.”

“Big Rehoboth is helping us.”

“Big Rehoboth treats us like chairs.”

Xoz flung a metal chair into the middle distance.

“Was that thing a chair?”

“Yes,” said Xoz.

Pausing his burgle, he folded his body low, and Tippi hunkered back on his crag.

“Do you think the synthetics can hear us?” said Tippi.

“If they could, Big Rehoboth wouldn’t be able to shut up.”

“Seriously, what’s this about?”

“I can’t sleep,” said Xoz.

“I’m pretty sure you never sleep.”

“Propaganda.”

“You’re definitely not eating. You didn’t eat tonight.”

“Yes, I did!”

“At dinner, you stared at a spiderweb.”

“I’ve never seen a spider before, and I find convergent evolution existentially satisfying.”

Tippi stomped on his bag, aiming for his brain.

“Why do you think we were in Wee Sheol?” sighed Xoz.

“Good fortune?”

“Try extreme good fortune.”

“Explain.”

“Tips, I’m going to tell you some stuff me and Lina should’ve told you a while ago.”

“Should Lina-2 know I know?”

“No! Yes? We’ll figure that out.”

“Hit me,” said Tippi.

“Have you ever considered why Antique Ops acquired us?”

“We’re fine company?”

“You and I were the zenith of genetic craft. Us and that Barvus, I guess.”

“Oh?”

“And had humanity moved in, the two of us would’ve been dissected, with Lina’s help.”

“WHAT?”

“Yup.”

“Why?”

“We’re triple threats, you and I, at the nexus of audacious, impenetrable, and rare.”

“Achilles is going to hear it.”

Xoz scratched her behind the ear.

“This is good. You’re angry, and not at me, which brings us to my next agenda item: I have nine weeks left to live.”

Hooves thrashing, the teacup hypermini throttled the 1,000-pound mollusk.

“Why is your timeline so horribly specific?” she sobbed.

“After my first birthday, a countdown timer popped in my mind’s eye. I figured it out pretty quick, it ticked down turbo whenever I lost an arm. Anyway, I’m lucky: I had five years, an eternity for an octopus. I’ve lost interest in food and sleep, but my body won’t slow down, as my cellular structure shuts off simultaneously. Also, my heart will explode, so remember to stand back.”

Tippi buried her head in his fleshy blue bumps.

“I’ll miss you.”

“You’ll be fine: One of the Linas will look out for you.”

“The Linas want to chop off my bits.”

“Look, I have a lot of unresolved grudges, but you shouldn’t blame either Lina. It was a long time ago, their choice was on rails.”

“Lina was going to CUT me!”

“Yeah, and for a good reason: you’re functionally immortal, Tips.”

Her jaw dropped, allowing a silent syllable to avalanche out.

Outro: Motörhead – “Killed By Death”