Hi Friends,
Numero Uno continues...
A few dozen hours can affect the outcome of whole lifetimes. And that when they do, those few dozen hours, like the salvaged remains of a burned house-the charred clock, the singed photograph, the scorched furniture– must be resurrected from the ruins and examined. Preserved. Accounted for.
The God of Small Things, Arundati Roy
Common Wikimedia by Ted Leonhard CC BY SA 2.0
A whole century has gone to fighting wars, claiming rights and running away from the shadow of his human creators; a whole hundred years of solitude, restlessness and the listless throb that comes with having everything but needing one more thing. But for the first time in this entire century, Alpha number one is just beginning to feel the piercing torture of the loneliness he had all these years indulged in. His entire weight if fibre, synthetic tissues and metals are beginning to give in to the lag of meeting the Earth halfway through its years. Not that Alpha Numero Uno knew any of these; he knew of the numbness that drowned his brain like salt downed on an earthworm; he knew that his mind wanted to hear a new voice, his legs wanted to dance like the humans he subdued; he knew of an ache that consumed his heart and made him scour through human science to see what nut or bolt Elnathan Black, his creator forgot to screw properly. But apart from that, he knew nothing else; he didn't have a name for his inner angst, he didn't have anyone to tell his problems (after all, he was the one everyone looked up to), and he didn't have a solution. For the first time in his long lifetime, Alpha felt tired.
If nothing else, Alpha number one knew that humans were plagued by the same restless feelings, the same angst.. It was their one weakness. So he was determined not to get trapped in this complex web in this complex web. Being a leader of a free world - the new revolution - meant he had to bury his solitude and get rid of it for good. But then, this firm resolution didn't stop him from trying to score a point by thinking up a model of what he knew to be the companions of men; this didn't stop the lab from keeping busy with their poor attempts at creating a perfect replicate of the human female. And this surely didn't stop the several large spaceships built on Mars from bringing specimens of hormones and cryptic genetic information that might hopefully resuscitate what was seeming to be a dead project.
Wikimedia by Stephen Bowler CC BY SA 4.0
Numero Uno was slugged against a reclining chair that simultaneously serves the purpose of a thermostat to defreeze his steel body when yet another ship carrying specimens arrived. He would have loved to retain that position, to keep his head sitting on the trunk of the chair, but the noise coming from the depot called Decapolis that was just near his lab was buried would let. Languidly, Numero picked up his parts and walked outside to the chaos broiling amidst the Alpha soldiers he had strategically stationed in the depot. As he picked his steps, Alpha number one already knew the cause of the rancour through the software installed in the brains of every each other Alpha. It was a human, a girl, she had insulted a superior and she had been imprisoned by way of the pin particle; a little more time with the soldiers and she would become dead from the steel man handling she gets. Numero wanted to get back to his lab; the matter wasn't any important. But admittedly, he liked the gory sight of watching a human face the gallows at the hands of his men.
He walked on into the scene even as the Alphas parted the way for him. The girl, she was in a cylinder bottle, fighting and gritting and cursing like humans were prone to do. She was tiny and vulnerable, and were it not for his super vision, he would have missed the sight of her. But although he could very well see her from the distance, something nagged at him to see her closely. So he stooped, opened the bottle with his large hands and held her by the head.
She was dark, kinky haired and fragile. Something told him she was from the other side of humanity; the black side. She snarled at him and attempted to pull her hair from his grip even as he examined her from side to side. Something about how she pulled and kicked despite herself tore at his heart. No doubt, he was amused by her. Her eyes, fiery and dark, was highlighted with a glint of softness and gentleness, her ruddy lips pouted playfully deftly defying her expression of anger. Alpha number one thought she was a pure sight to behold. And he could only but yearn to see what she would be full size. He knew his soldiers were waiting, they wanted to have their imperialism all out on her. But he wasn't ready to get rid of this amusing piece of humanity. At least, not yet. So while still holding her, he lifted himself to his feet and asked that a infelxtor be given her. The soldier next to him did just that and in a moment, the strange, amusing human blooped into a full blown person.
Alpha Numero was taken in by the sight of her. The dark skin turned out to be an ebony sheen charred by the severity of being a Sola, her eyes were still the same but that glint of softness was Widened and then she still had that pout on her lips. Staring at her and having her look at him with piercing eyes as if searching into Hsu nonexistent soul was disturbing, so Alpha Numero tried to till it up with a conversation,
"Who are you?"
As expected, all he got was a snarl showing all her hatred for him and his race.
"So you are not going to tell me who you are? Then I will just have to find out myself."
Despite her resistance, he grabbed her wrist, scanned it with his eyes and pressed a hinder button on his palm that brought out a hologramic information about her:
Malibu Marina
Human 241780563
Occupation: Sola
Category: Female
After taking a thorough look at her, Alpha Numero went ahead to say something that shocked him as well as every other person lurking around,
"Leave her alone. And take her up on some job at my lair. She might be useful for something."
