Thirty years later.
Golan 84 fell backwards out of the helicopter and into the outstretched arms of a smokey, sentient cloud, a biomorphous gas entity named Sasha whose job it was to carry the commandos down from the sky. Sasha, like Golan 82, was designed by the governor to contain the separatist threat. But like the separatists they hunted, Golan 84 and Sasha too could imagine freedom, and it was nothing like what they were doing right now.
Golan 84. He was the clone of a clone.
Golan 82. Bio: the subject met the Governor on a special envoy to the Gaza Strip. The Governor initiated a liaison with the soulful, arrogant, young man. Golan 82 was a poetry major at the university and a decorated special ops commando. Transplanted to California, the subject was appointed the Governor’s special security advisor 6 months later.
And now, 30 years have passed and two generations of Golans have come since the first group was dismantled, split into memes, codices, and tropes at a data mine. Now, under Sasha’s shadowy cover, Golan 84 rolled into position. Taser at the ready, he waited as his satellite earpiece and guide visor processed his immediate surroundings into gridded information. There was a blue circle glowing in the distance. All he had to do was follow the arrows. He tried to think of it only as a signal. But his immaculate hearing, and aesthetically sensitive brain, interpreted it as music. The song file playing in an apartment thirty kilometers away… Upstairs. There was a boy dancing to it. His mother was trying to do dishes, but the drugs she was on made it hard for her to concentrate and sometimes she found herself staring out the window distractedly, not quite noticing the hazy blue cloud moving down the street…
Golan 84 turned away from the street, and ran back into Sasha’s billowing embrace. The cloud could not lift you, only break your fall, he remembered being told in training. Still, it’s friendly, bubbly-gummy scent reminded him of his youth. And in the back of his bind was that thing they made us all memorize in school, the diary of the last lovers on earth, a document long believed to be from the future.
“It’s highly likely that everyone will just die.” Sep Commander Clytemnestro once noted: “There are too few echelons”
Upper, lower, reflections on the water. Replicant understanding is a two way mirror.” The Universal Separatist Question is not about Side to Side or even Corner to Corner.
The Universal Separatist Formula is a Diagonal Echelon that cuts through the Mirror in a Diamond Pattern. The etching of the line along the surface of the mirror does not have to cut deep to be visible. a delicate interruption in the appearance is most precise and effective.
Squadron elemental unit, Sep Commander Clytemnestro, lots of static as he dictates to his computer:
- I don’t agree with you about anything
- I don’t feel connected to you
- I don’t know you anymore
- I don’t think i ever knew you
- I don’t want to be here, among you
- I don’t need this anymore
- I need to go away
- I need to go far way
- I need to forget about all of the people and things my eyes see
- I only want to see animals
- I only want to be with animals
- I only want to be alone with animals
- I only want to live among the animals
- I only want to be killed by animals
- And animals do not exist anymore
- If a person killed me I would be incredibly angry
- If a machine killed me I would feel cheated and angry at the people who made it
- If a bear killed me I would be excited
- If a person killed me I would be crying, and so angry
- I don’t want to be provoked into doing any more damage
Little did he know, as he mused over various directives, that the cryogenic suspension pods were malfunctioning, and the universal separatist manifesto would never, ever be written.
“never stand in line; just leave.”
“if it can be named, it doesn’t exist.”
“don’t even try.”
The Squadron Elemental Unit tested these “aphorisms” in the spreadsheet of his imagination as he died.