Related by Lora, Twilit Majz of Many Generations
 

Perhaps our lives are determined by the DNA in our cells. Perhaps our choices all emerge from protein synthesis at that level. Except those proteins are always synthesized in response to demands from our environment. And the DNA itself is shaped over generations by those demands. We are taffy, pushed and pulled. Our minds form in the crucible of these forces. Perhaps Zygon was right. We are all objects in process, the profoundly sensitive process of being shaped by everything that happens in our lives.

“What switches and what order?” I said, decision arising from an unplanned cascade of chemicals dancing in the spaces between my nerve ends. I felt Zygon relax.

“You’ve made the right choice,” he said as he issued the orders.

Except I hadn’t chosen, not in the conscious sense. I could feel the balance of forces present as they worked my nerves and my nerves pushed back. The Purics were at the end of their line. The Harmonizers had always been and would always be blind to the exigencies of organic life. Between the two of them they had made cruelty the centerpiece of their lives. No one made cruelty the centerpiece of their choices if they weren’t utterly bankrupt. “Barbarism is always the tool of the bankrupt,” my father used to say. “Humanity has spent many thousands of years bankrupt,” he would continue, sinking into his grim assessment of life on planet Earth. Well, I was his daughter. I found myself doing what he would have done if he were here in my place.

I pressed the switches in the order Zygon dictated. “What will happen after I do this?” I asked. I was nearly through the sequence.

“It is beginning to flood their bioflues with radiation,” Zygon said. “We’re venting the Puric’s reactor cores into those damned machines.”

“I suppose that will destroy their bio-components,” I said, feeling stony resolve settle into all my nerves.

“That it will,” Zygon smiled.

“Will that radiation leak out into our environment?” I asked, feeling like maybe Zygon and I would be two more casualties of this mission today.

“Not if you press that last switch after waiting for ten minutes,” Zygon said. “I’ll start counting down now.”

Somewhere in the background, courtesy of Zygon and the Beni, I was aware that one of the Purics had just cut off Pon’s head in their final act of retribution. They had realized at last what he had orchestrated, and that their number was finally up.

“If I don’t press that switch, will all the Purics die?”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Zygon said. I sensed he was becoming nervous again.

“And, what about the Organics? Will the radiation leak into the environment outside this complex and endanger them as well?” I continued, calmly, smoothly, right on target. Is this why Pon had wanted me in love with him? Not to sacrifice me, but to ensure I did exactly what he would have wanted when the moment came?

The moment was here.

“He did have real feelings for you,” Zygon countered.

That was unexpected. It almost derailed me. Almost, but not quite.

The lights in the room flickered and went out. 

I couldn’t see the magic switch anymore. I had my hands on it though.

“They’re toast,” Zygon exulted. “Press the switch in three dear. We’ve done it.”

“You haven’t answered my question, Mr. Z,” I said coolly.

“It will serve no purpose to kill us along with the bastards, dear,” Zygon sighed. 

“Really?” I laughed. “I guess that means the Organics are safe no matter what I do.”

“They are,” Zygon relented. “Do you feel better?”

“I will never feel better, Zygon, never!” I shouted.

My people have always believed if you kill or allow to be killed another sentient, part of you goes dead -- it’s something to do with the neurons that make us so sensitive to each other. They sense the death, and just shut themselves off – reflexive self-protection probably. You can never get them back again once that happens. It is a sad fact of my species’ conformation that we can never harm another without harming ourselves at the cellular level. It explains a lot of our misery. All through our history so many of us have spent our lives mostly dead. 

Zygon was watching my thoughts like some kind of bird of prey. He couldn’t press the magic switch, that’s why he needed me and my ten dexterous digits, but he could reorient us before our deaths. 

What would each of us do? 

“There has been enough death today, don’t you think?” Zygon asked. We were still in the room.

“You’ve killed before, Zygon,” I said, stone cold inside. “How does it feel to live with part of yourself dead?”

“It’s hell,” he said, for one totally honest moment. He let me see the answer. He had not let those neurons in him shut off. He chose to live with the knowledge instead. The depth of his pain filled me until I thought I would break.

I pressed the switch. Enough of me had gone into hiding because of the Harmonizers. I guess I didn’t want the deaths of the rest of the Purics burrowing down into and short-circuiting any more of my nerves. It wouldn’t bring him back. In any case, he had wanted to save all of his people, even the barbarian, mostly dead Purics. 

Yes, I loved him.
 

to be continued...
 
 

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