The Essential Manual

My alarm awakens me each morning, quite fittingly for its name, alarm. That’s exactly suitable for what I awaken to that is delivered by the news in each daybreak.
Every day I stir out of bed, there is an update of the hour. Each day it’s one more alarming incident involving, at least, a missing child and the parents are suspects; a husband is suspected of doing away with his wife; an elderly citizen was severely beaten and killed. A man robbed a bank. A teacher was suspended from school for suspicion of committing an atrocious act with a student and another female teacher took advantage of a student under her mentorship. A drug counselor was arrested with illegal drugs in his possession. A student wreaked havoc in his school and the weather systems are no longer committed to the seasons and are becoming more and more threatening.
It is another day and I find no relief when I hear overnight a daughter killed her parents to be with her sixteen year old boyfriend; she is fourteen. I’m dizzy from the account of it all, and most heartbreaking is the reality that outside of my narrow space it is happening on a broader scope, it’s a big world.
Now, I face a subway where a different level of anxiety takes over.
During my daily ride, I sit as near to, or in the same seat, if possible--close to the exit. Yesterday, four teenagers boarded, laughing, being ruthless, and fell upon a senior man, knocking his glasses off and his newspaper and brief case to the floor. They laughed; did not say pardon me, excuse me sir, or make any attempt to recover him to his position. They pushed callously pass a few standing passengers, and nearly knocked a little girl down as she was getting ready to take her seat. Their disrespectful verbosity was nauseating. Others stayed mutely in their space and said nothing. Most distressing was what I witnessed going on with a little kid being bullied. The kid appeared to be about seven years old and the bullies, ten, eleven, twelve-ish, at least; there were three of them. The kid was about four seats away from me. My instincts prompted me to go to his rescue. I walked back toward him and held out my hand and pulled him along to be seated next to me. I feared the stares the bullies gave me could be interpreted as, you just wait; you can’t be with him always. Fate had it arranged for the kid to be taking the same exit as I take daily. We exited, the bully group passed, looking outdone and defeated. I queried the kid and he told me his name, Doomer Bixon, he provided me the telephone number of his mother. I telephone his mom to inform her to take precautionary measures to protect him. She said she had three other children whose day had to be coordinated, she sounded stressed and helpless because putting him onto the subway alone was the best option for her circumstances. I offered to accompany the kid, if she could arrange it where the time works out for everyone.
From that point, little Doomer was dropped off at the subway entrance where I waited each morning. I waved to a frenzied mother and watched her speed away with three other heads bobbing inside the vehicle. I made it work; the kid was so frail and timid looking; I felt no choice, but to become his protector. I exit and walk little Doomer to his school gate and watch a scrubby face little boy, who gets it, say goodbye and run along to school. I head out to my work place.
I enter a very public looking building, take the escalator up, and head to a section of elevators that I’m privileged to have a card key that proves I’m authorized. I feel a sense of my daily repetitiveness, when I exit, take an escalator up, and walk a narrow corridor and take another escalator down.
Each day I start my morning this way, within the groins of the city, as I move deep into the predetermined area, forbidden to disclosure; thoughts of her cancel my claustrophobia, and return me back day after day. I adhere to my true interest, knowing that if it was not for her, I would have long been a seeker of employment elsewhere. Since my first arrival I’ve felt the inevitability of becoming a part of it all, yet with no sense of what my eventual role may turn out to be. She has somehow inspired a sense of urgency for me to stay dedicated and it magnetizes me. The clarity of life down here is still, and uncertain. I board an escalator that leads me in one final separation, defining above from beneath.
I’m now counting the years where I’ve never considered time with each New Year’s passing, as I held myself out to fantasies, and crazy wishes of mistletoe-ing her with each Christmas passing, and being strategically in her presence at the stroke of midnight of each New Year’s beginning. Of the days thereof, I attempted to solace myself in the company of others, but my mind resigned them as if they are from a bad dating service.
I marvel at reports beyond my comprehension, as my eyes take snapshots of words and formulae that means nothing more to me than titles found in biology books. The words oxygen, carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, calcium, et al enraptures my thoughts. DNA, deoxyribonucleic acid, fertilization, and sperm to egg only contribute to a broader fantasy in my head.
Of all the white coats of whose space I invade daily, hers stands out more when I enter her office and tarry about trying to look as if I’m working harder than actual, excusing myself around her desk. After privileging my nostrils with permission to smell her fragrance which fights through a laboratory of scents but is still distinguishable as softly sweet, and flowery poignant; pity envelops in the pit of my stomach and engulfs my heart, as I watch her work tireless, and before I leave each evening I once again witness her put a bounded book into a glass cage that warns authorized, only. I try to make a distinction between my ego and the reality of her attention, as it seems each day, at this very hour of my departure, returning the book is dedicated to me.
At the end of another day, I wipe the desk, wash the beakers, arrange the tubing and look to a door I’ve never seen opened. I find myself pondering over the large red colored letters that spells Barred Access. I wipe the surface, cleaning the smudges from it, and discipline myself to not consider entering, as I respect the disclaimer sign beneath, authorized only. And, realize any forward action may result in a risk, I feel is too dammed to take.
“You are never to open this door, and if it is ever opened, you are not to enter, unless you are the last person on earth.” Someone in an official white lab jacket pinned by rank with bars no doubt understood only by the laboratory community, once said, regarding that door. I nearly shuddered, while I stood wiping the smudges, unable to harness my curiosity, but well aware curiosity killed the cat. She stood along beside him; she smiled at me. Its only because of her conviviality, I’ll honor the warning, and never enter, even if I find the door open.
Today there has been some scurrying about, as if some scary expectation is near. Each time I have found reason to mop around her desk, I have not seen her lift her head. Today, I have missed the smile I’ve received on other occasions. Others dash about her and perplexingly badger her for console; in days pass, I thought they themselves were the masters of knowledge. My pride overrides a serious disposition, as I attempt to contain my psychological gigantism of admiration from seeing who has risen to ultimate; she is in charge. Giddy wants to overtake me. I pull myself back down to earth simply from the disappointment of feeling deprived from not receiving her usual smile, and hello this day. On my way out, I looked back and saw her remain surrounded and pitied her for the strain that was showing after a day filled with uninterrupted signs of tension, upset, and fear. She wiped her forehead with the back of her arm sealing my end of day impression of her, as not definable, although days past, I felt a sense of psychological prominence from thinking I was able to analyze her. As she proceeded in lecture, seriousness, neither anxiousness, nor fear is evident in spite of the tension and tiredness that’s showing over her face, trying to define her and be more telling than what is good for my suppressed fear of the occasion. Her attitude starkly contrasts those around her who clearly shows upset. She rests her elbow on the bible on her desk, and looks pondering. She directs them to the door I’ve been warned about. She applies the security code and they disappear inside. My temples pulsate. I begin to walk through the corridors and everyone is preoccupied. They seem to be responding to some expectation beyond my capacity to understand. I feel cheated; I’ve been here every day and have never anticipated this degree of something abreast. Now, at this time something obviously is happening, and I can’t wrap my head around it. My limitedness is frustrating. Today I’m angst from being just the janitor. I’m regretful for having a lesser ambition, knowing I could at least have qualified to be with them inside the forbidden area and could possibly even share a point of two. Instead I’m outside with no hope of inclusion, as those around me work with a degree of satisfaction, although tense, but showing they know they have, or will at least be contributing something to the concern at hand. I can only recall my defiance against my parents who tried to inspire more ambition in me, but I became a high school drop out anyway. I’ve told myself that I have at least made good of my error, if only due to the environment I’m working in, and not the task. If fate and time could be harnessed under my control, I’d return to my mother’s womb, later entering the world toddling well behaved, and throughout my growing years, relish her guidance each day, behaving as if every acceptance of both my parents wishes stored up gold and precious gems for my future care.
I check out at my locker, removing a lab coat that has always made me feel important especially when I have worn it to the streets. It looks impressive, and I have been treated as such on those occasions. Today, it comes off; I leave it behind. I clearly know I’m not as important as my jacket signify. I lock the one area that I’m entrusted with, and I head out to elevate myself onto the streets above. Just before stepping onto the escalator, I hear a voice call out, “Eter, Eter, please wait.” It’s her. My excitement cancels guessing why she is calling after me. It doesn’t matter, I stop and turn around, realizing I’m about to be in a position I’ve never found myself in during all my years of working in the lab. Her presence will put me face to face speaking directly with her.
She sounds frantic while speaking to me as she speaks whisperingly. ‘Please take this. This is the key for once you have access inside the BA. Listen carefully, in the morning when you arrive, be mindful. No matter where you are, if you hear the alarm I want you to run to the BA door and get ready to enter. I will give you access. Only you are to enter. It is very important that no one else enters.” She reached for my right hand and placed the key inside it as she held it between her ten fingers and caressed it reassuringly and reiterated repeating words that are unmistakable and finite. “Please, please kept watch and do as I say. If the alarm sounds get to the BA door. I will give you access.” Her voice quivered as she spoke and then in a final move she hugged me and quickly returned to her lab. I spoke after her, “I will.”
This morning, little Doomer looks at me intently. I smiled, attempting to cover up my true premonitory state. He says, “Doctor, where is your doctor jacket?”
“I left it in my office, I’ll have it soon.” I said.
Once again I walked him to the school gate and he said, “Will you be here tomorrow?” The question is new; he’s never asked this in all the occasions I’ve walked him to school. My brain searches my gut, because I wish to respond with the most antiquated answer possible; old fashioned carries more meaning.
“I won’t miss it for the world.”
I told him. I interpreted his little face to look doubtful, an expression that defines me for the moment, because it seems there is something dark and dreary about this day. As soon as I awaken this morning, a gut wrenching gloom abounded inside me suppressing a deep seeded howling in my spirit wanting to be released. I know it’s pointless to attempt to cry out because the nature of my pain stifles my voice. It is enclosed inside these walls of flesh, descending deep down where it’s become no more than a whisper, but today I fear the fate of what I leave above more. I make a tumultuous attempt to overrides my despondency. I ask myself, had I been more attentive, would I be better at this time? What I fear most is the feeling I need to be good, but I don’t know how good I need to be, and if I don’t already have the ability, I don’t know if I can develop the good that’s needed to make me good enough.
It is my own fault, so it seems now, that I preoccupied over the insignificant, although not including her. I watched each day leading up to this time, I was significantly in awe. I’d never witnessed a package of beauty and intellect so perfectly molded. Indeed I felt lucky to witness it all, especially for someone of my position. Each day I wiped, dusted, and moped, I found it miraculous that I did not have an accident from my negligent half-heartedness, as I observed where my true interest was and divided it out. Balance was required to separate and allocate a obligation that caused my heart to work tireless. I willfully permitted the largest measure of my interest to be poured into someone I couldn’t be sure even cared about my existence, until she gave me the key.
The alarm is sounding, and it is deafening. It’s clearly not a test. It is actual, as it is signified by the movement around me and as it demands some action takes place. The ultimo is for a type of action different from the frantic preparation that is taking place at this time. Lab jackets dashes and scurry back and forth; discounting the technicians in them, they look like laundry violently blowing back and forth on a cloth line. Everyone seems to be preoccupied with doing one final thing. I hear her voice again. She calls out to me “Eter, Eter get to the door, the BA door.” I don’t know if I’m reacting fast enough, as I realize the door will forever be between us, once I make this move. I know it will permanently block any possible future association with her for here on. This reality is cold in the pit of my stomach. My mind is surprisingly processing everything, but in slow motion, in spite of the frantic goings on around me. I have to hurry, I don’t have time to mourn what probably would never be anyway; even without these circumstances my hope is oblique. Another buzz sounds, it alarms distinct and a light goes on above the entrance. I hear a louder and more desperate cry, “Eter go, go now.” The desperate shrilling of that voice will haunt me forever, this is certain as I realize I have no time to process things and filter through my confusion. There is a shaking and different noises surround me. Some seem to be scurrying about as their body slants with a fall being ultimate and predictable and objects fall and roll about them. The BA door was opened and now it is beginning to close. I hear one final desperate piercing call out to me again. “E----ter! Eter!!! I squeezed through in the nick of time, but without a final sighting of her; as I turned around the door closed and an iron gateway came down and a panel of cement closed me away, separating and sealing me inside.
Before there was time to decipher things within, I fell under the spell of a mist that immediately engulfed me. When I awakened it was clear that I had not entered the area of my final destination and I would not be seeing the world I left above. I touched an oversized button that opened to a booth that I was sure had to do with leading me to a more permanent destination. A type of de-germing appeared to be taking place when I stepped inside. The other side opened and I stepped out feeling clean and alienated from the place I’d left behind.
I was in awe when I saw large human size vials filled with bodies and jumped with fear when an electronic voice directed me to a lab containing an essential manual. The voice awakened my senses to a feeling of unreal as it instructed me to, “Please receive the Essential Manual.” I immediately felt distant and separated from life as I had known before now. I looked around and saw a thick book bounded and covered in red leather with the words in black Algerian writing that spelled Essential Manual. I pulled a stool up to the lab desk and I turned to the first page of the manual and it stated, “To the reader, you are to follow exclusively.” I know unequivocally, it’s what I must do, as I avoid trembling from sensing there will be no time for error and realizing the seriousness of my task and the finality of this destination.
Her memory is sealed in my psychic. Her name from her badge flashes across my mind, Beta Bonar. Ms. Bonar I pronounced her name in my head on that final occasion when she spoke with me. I can still feel my hand cupped in hers on the day she gave me the key. The key, I must have it somewhere. I’m feeling a little panicky wondering if I carelessly left it behind. I feel my pockets frantically and remember I placed it inside my wallet. It is here, but what is it for? Began Essential Manual, the voice advised me again. I looked around for the speaker device the voice is resonating from, but I know it is not as important as the message. I placed the key back into my wallet, avoiding acknowledging the electronic creepiness of the situation, as I sat carefully returning my attention back to the first page. It unavoidably dawns on me that this is what she committed me to and I nearly tremble realizing once again the position I find myself in and the seriousness of the charge ahead.
My feelings of aloneness at this time have been delayed through some means of psychic denial and I realize I can no longer postpone the reverberation insisting on crawling up my spine. I quiver as if an earthquake is near and hold out for the moment of regaining control. For now, I know something dreadful has happened outside the entrance of the door that bars access, to only those authorized. I’ve been permitted and I realize I’m now alone and the minute is near to when I will have to decipher the reason that landed me here and consider the occurrences that has changed my life.
“Read, Essential Manual.” The voice urgently reminds me again.
It is unfair that the voice cannot understand my delay from denial and the postponement wrenching at my gut because I fear what I must face. Beneath an overweighed cover the first page is a set of credits that reveals official titles and names and at the end hers stands out, Beta Bonar, Deoxyribonucleic Genetic Accesser of the Human Revitalization Process. I must have a moment to press my temples, and with both hands, as I hope not to hear the electronic command again, that’s near to spiraling me into a frenzied breakdown.
I turned to the second page and found a calendar with print beneath that stated this is the time to start the first day of the new world. I have no control over the pulsating of my temples.It further provided the words that advised me to look at cabinet door A and set the time devices to the hour twelve; I wondered why it didn’t specify midnight or afternoon and helplessly decided it does not matter at this point.
“You will be directed to each page to consider from the Essential Manual from this time on, keep alert.” The voice admonished.
I feel very tired and I’m wondering if I will be allowed to sleep and the voice announces, “Ten hours to direction from the Essential Manual.” Retire inside door B, door B opened and I entered and found unusual and elaborate means that met my needs to live and function and to rest. I lay at this hour and sleep fell upon me. No sooner than I lay down, I was awakened by the command once again. “Read Essential Manual!” It can’t be I thought as I looked upon the wall viewing the time I set which seemed like only a few minutes earlier. Eleven hours have passed and the persistence of the voice reminds me there will be no time to do anything else, except read the Essential Manual. I realize my eventual inevitable role is at fruition.
“Page three. “The voice advises.
I turned to page three and found the dreaded prologue that cancels the life I left behind and defines my life from the point I was given access to this chamber. I quickly read, finding that the world outside these chambers is cancelled, and access to that area will be barred for a hundred years. There are instructions to begin a new world and on the day I was allowed entrance, those I left outside continued working to leave protected manuals to be discovered after the hundred years elapsed before their predicted demise take place a year later from the time my access was unbarred. This explains why me; every other essential mind was needed from the time of anticipating this era up to the year releasing me of being barred from access. My mind apparently was not essential enough to stay and do work on the other side, but principally could follow the manual where complex guidelines have been compartmented into surprising discernable instructions that someone of my minimal intellect could follow. Who decided me? My head swims from the introduction of a new future. My mind doesn’t avoid the hidden demands and I nearly feel wobbly as I suspect my role.
“Prepare cyborgs, Essential Manual, page one hundred and six,” the voice instructs. Other words are introduced by the voice, prepare cyborgs; little things make me happy these days. At this point, I realize there is a lot to be noted for self-learning, I feel smart like I’ve become a scientist, but what does it matter; science and life is above outside these chambers.
I’ve worked feverishly, page by page following instructions I would have never believed possible a calendar ago, or just how long ago has it been? My mind is beginning to entertain questions I’ve never considered before, although I don’t not why I haven’t considered them before now. Why has this task been bestowed upon me? Who decided my capability? Even I would have been questioning of myself; did someone checked to see if I felt capable. How strange this scenario, but even more strange is the fact that the manual does not allow me time to ponder. Its enormity and the voice verify that my time is committed.
There are couples of the same race of cyborgs comprised from a gradient lily white to ivory black. For the first time I consider how interesting it is to have the choice of diversity and color; although not before considering having simply one race inhabit this new beginning. Genetic codes and dna convicts me, I realize the uniqueness of each and understand why they all were put here initially. Tomorrow I will turn over to page three hundred.
When I turned the page to page three hundred, it provided instructions to infuse life into the cyborgs. These replicates have human brains and are robotic otherwise. Frankly, they are a little too illusory for me at the moment, but the Essential Manual has gained my respect. When all the cyborg races have been infused with life, I’m instructed to open their vials and give them access to begin life on the other side. There are diagrams depicting the other side; it’s gigantically impressive, just beyond an opened door.
I released the cyborg couples and looked after them, marveling at what I see. There are huge oaks that spiral out into an incredible community, revealing small dwellings that peak in the distance. There is no question about edible vegetation; there are fruit trees and herbs and greens all about. If you like shrubbery and flowers and vegetation of all sorts, it will at the least, make you feel relaxed. I think I hear animals, although I know not what types. Is the magic in the Essential Manual or was it in the minds that created it? I exhale to a sense of relaxing that is long overdue. I know that it’s only momentarily, and soon have it confirmed when I hear, “Return to Essential Manual.”
Over three thousand hours later, I have not experience any reduction in the immensity of the work that lies ahead. Even I cannot believe the tasks I’ve completed and what I have created, in spite of not making a dent in yet. My mind momentarily reflects, I’ve created, taking credit for what the Essential Manual has produced. Each page has brought unbelievable magic; it is indeed a blessed book, and I hope at completion I’m blessed too.
“Consider manual for exactness! Test tubes babies next! Rest and prepare for total concentration!”
This is what the voice admonishes. I realize it’s pointless to talk back, not conversationally, but to be confrontationally challenging. I guess I’m becoming tired; particular thoughts of reality are becoming unavoidable. What of me? What happens when I complete the manual? What was it about the green capsule I was instructed to take even before turning to the first page of the manual? Is it what has made this all bearable? What of me?
I’m washing my hands without instructions, the voice has not advised me. Although I realize there is no need, due to the sterility of my environment, I nonetheless fine console in the act. My mind is slowed and I do not consider a much needed promise for tomorrow; a promise that certifies that all, in the end, will be okay. The voice is delayed as if it’s pondering the next chapter before speaking what needs to be delivered to me. Babies require more thought and time; they should not be left to carelessness, they become the future. I am I feeling tense.
“Rest and delay process for test tube babies.” Aah, there’s that voice. The voice and the manual have become credible credibility for me; I don’t question either, outside of my mind. My mind thinks, but avoids any act of outward verbosity.
I’ve awaken once again to a day to hear the voice and honor the instructions, as I have worked tireless for two thousand and fifty-four hours. Today, I will be instructed to turn the page to the most important part of the manual.
“It’s time for the test tubes babies.”
The days of the donors are clear to me now, as I recall in the past seeing men and women of diversity being carted in and escorted off into the forbidden barred access. I consider,-- did they know of this day? Did they understand the conditions they would be leaving their offspring to? Did their reward of dollars give them enough happiness before facing the fate that I can only envision on the day my access was un-barred? They looked selected, and common sense tells me they were. It was obvious that care had been given to selecting the best. Each race looked purely prime; a clear indication of being rounded in good genetics as they all looked model and statuesque, refined and intellectual. This is the time that will arrest my dormant curiosity as the confidentiality of that initial period unfolds. It is their test tube babies that I am now responsible for, how unlikely was the reality that landed me here.
My hands sweat; all that I have fulfilled has not prepared me for this moment. I am now clearly cognizant of the fact that I am responsible for a new beginning. I have tirelessly worked following instructions in the Essential Manual. I marvel over the years of work I have completed. When history is analyzed, they will be amazed over the thoroughness of a manual that assured the success of a high school dropout. For what I have carried out, would amaze my parents more than I if I had completed the education that I had not, that so grieved them. Near this end I have set life to motion in a new world; verified all sources to assure success, but this one final action makes me more nervous than any I’ve performed so far.
I have reviewed over three thousand pages of an instructional manual and have completed every necessity contained within it, i.e. germinating and cross breeding plants to dually continue producing food and beautification. I’ve supervised building construction assuring the specifications for being underground; I’ve set up units and committees among the cyborgs to handle concerns. But, more importantly, I’ve created a new life system, via a new world and just as remarkably, I have not dallied over what happened above on the day my access was no longer barred. I’ve counted the ten years and it seems like only yesterday has past.
All that is contained within these depths to start a new beginning is good; it has been manifested from a good manual that was published by good people. My heart worries concerning them, even to this day, as I can’t imagine their fate. However, there is a question I ponder briefly; can good be recognized and appreciated without bad. Bad almost certainly will do something unexpected and good will unequivocally suffer the consequences. But, the manual allots for both in the new world; the cyborgs have been given free will.
I await my instructions and consider if the voice knows me because it instructs me to rest today, and delay starting the work for the test tubes babies until another day. How does it know that I’m tense and my hands sweat and my temples pulsate from the seriousness of the task at hand? Those little Futeros (future babies) await my help.
Rest has been the remedy. I feel renewed. The voice, as it appears wise, is eerie, yet I’ trust it as I trust nothing else.
“Page three thousand.” The voice instructs me to turn. I turned the pages and viewed diagram after diagram.
“Begin procedure,” the voice prompts. Once again, I see that everything is adequate for my abilities and once again the procedures, language and diagrams make the process mistake proof. More striking, are the pictures depicting the outcome. These babies will be cute. I’m reminded that the cyborg parents have existed for ten years and will welcome their little one; the expectation of a baby was planted in their brain. I don’t try to figure it, or tax my understanding; I accept it and prepare to follow instructions as I have for the last ten thousand hours. Incredibly, by my summation, my sanity has never become questionable. Is there something in the air that compels my disposition to saneness or is there more comfort in the voice, than I know?
I nearly want to marvel at the set-up that allows this ability within me; an ability I never knew existed during all the days of being on top. On top; it’s interesting from this vantage point to say it and it’s interesting that in the old world, it would mean materialistically, prosperously, advantageously, greater or better than the lessors. There are no lessors down here.
I’m about to begin to review the methods for in vitro fertilization. First I salute the physiologist, Robert G. Edwards, Nobel Prize in Physiology, 2010, and Dr. John Buster of UCLA School of Medicine.
“Thank you that I’m here guys, I kind of feel I wouldn’t be here if not for you.”
My body is threatening uncontrollable quivering, and sweat is beading at my temples. There is a neat stack of white towels inside a glass cabinet at my side. How intuitive, I think as I reach for one and wipe sweat from my hands and temples. Suddenly, I feel calm and I begin the process. The voice directs my attention to the glass cabins that are lined with Petri dishes. I begin the process of selection and transfer by removing and mixing female egg with male sperm and placing them into surrogate uteruses. A sentence from the next paragraph reminds me, no deviation. I pull another towel and wipe my face and feel even calmer since the first wiping. I realize how necessary calm is needed, when I turn the page it confirms what I’ve long gathered, I’m restarting the races. The scheme cleverly varies the development of the babies and advises me in a long paragraph about how everything is timed for the readiness of the cyborg couples who will come, directed by the implanted chip in their brains. Everything has been allotted; attention has been given to the possibility of failure but the research that has come out of failures, assures that any failure, in the process, could be turned into success.
I’ve worked tireless, thanks to some hidden source of redemption. Methods that assure me of the hour, day, week, and year are all around. Clocks tick silently around the walls, and calendars line the walls like coordinate points. Each manual segment verifies the time after the completion of every task.
It is the same exit corridors where I released the cyborgs to go into the prepared world that will give them access to their babies. An unobtrusive siren gets my attention. The first baby is ready. A light flashes. I press the button I’ve already been acquainted with and know that the mother and father cyborg are waiting; no need for verification. They will receive their baby, and from that point on science and dedication will fulfill what those responsible for the Essential Manual had in mind; instincts will help.
One more chapter and three more unfinished incubations, awaits. Things have been well. The world above seems nothing more than a figment of my imagination. As time transpires beyond the markers on the calendar, nothing alarming has ever happened, as I’ve yielded to every instruction. I’ve looked daily at the monitors that records it all and surprisingly have witnessed nothing shocking; nothing distressing is creviced beneath the passing hours. It is bliss, and I have not fretted over the world I left behind.
Today, the last chamber is opened, and the last parent couple will be picking up their baby. The alarm gently sounds and a light flashes. It’s time for the final union.
“The task has been big, rest,” the voice commands.
No kidding. I adhere, as I have countless, countless, times.
I’m awakened by some type of advanced classical comfort. It is music that awakens and relaxes, simultaneously. There is no one to tell of the feats I’ve accomplished, a mere janitor of minimal skills to begin; there is no one to say, “I don’t believe you. Really, you’ve done all of this?.”
“Begin final chapter.” I recite along with the voice. Oddly, I have come to be capable of knowing what I will hear next. I turn the page to the final chapter as instructed. I need the classical comfort afforded me, as I read, I need the mist that has calmed my spirit through the years; I need the towels to wipe my face.
“You have ended a task that began, at a beginning you were never prepared for. You have passed the test of dedication. You have connected the clavicles of humaneness, you have proven the improvable, and you have done, above good. Take the manual and enter chamber at the end on East side, open door with key. Key? I remember. I take it from my wallet and I roll the manual and open the chamber door and it closes behind me. You’ve done well the voice says. New voice will activate in zero seconds. I look about and see someone, it’s her; she reaches out and takes my hand. We turn the final page of the manual and it cautioned; if any deviation occurred with the surrogate incubations, things will turn out differently. We walk to a monitor and view the outcome of parents and babies. There appears to be some quiet excitement taking place. My mind resonates, “If any deviation occurs?” My stars, the babies are different from their parents. The races don’t match. At that moment, it appears the parent cyborgs made the same discovery; nonetheless, fathers and mothers protectively hovered over their baby, and the male cyborg protectively grabbed his companion and they went home.
Buzz, buzz.
“My God, was it a dream?”