Chemically white dunes as far as the eyes can see — only this — and The Sun, a vast hydrogen fusion, hundreds of thousands of miles hot and deep, totalitarian in its sky, there are no more nights for it rules. Those who are left have learnt to work with it, harness its energy, channel its powers; this is the only way to sustenance, or food as they used to call it.
In Chimborazo, survival is stasis, progress is in the staying still, since striving ahead could mean sudden death, anyway, there’s nowhere to go that anyone knows about. And even if there were, it would require wasting Melintrose (units of sun energy gifted in a life).
“May I ask you something?” Phre asks, careful in trying not to look like it matters.
“A question? I hope it’s not a difficult one.” Ra says.
“It’s not part of everyday” Phre whispers. In Chimborazo, eyes look up and out beyond any form, watery and unfixed.
With this sudden news, Ra nervously starts fingering the screen of her Memory Bank, scrolling to find her familiar images, the reflexive muscle-memory a comforter. Warm in the solace of knowing every picture of herself and the people who have made up her life, the safe backdrops, the selected smiles and poses. A distraction from the fact that her cells were inevitably dying, but at least this way, they would die at a lesser rate, since this exercise is easy on the nerves.
“Look at me here Phre; this was when I was watching a bird.” Ra’s now attempting to change the course of the conversation. Phre has seen this image a thousand times already and feels deadness, a highly sought state in Chimborazo, although he doesn’t feel his usual satisfaction since something stirred within him.
“Do you ever imagine moving?” Phre asks.
“No, we cannot waste time thinking such silly things,” Ra says.
Here to live well and orderly is to lay down rested, still, with the Sun instruments perfectly balanced to capture as much energy as possible. The only activity considered safe: to rearview mirror your past in a passive elegiac way, like imagining the scenes of your best days to the sounds of an Al Green song, not a wild memory, no, more of a remembrance of general calm times. To think or act would be a waste, and to maintain energy was the primary purpose of a Chimborazian.
Phre looked at his hands, feminine and veinless, no tension had ever been felt through them, throughout his existence he had only ever been a receptacle, life happening to him, no will had been exerted outwards. Phre looked down at his body, atrophied and spongy, he wondered if he could stand up. Ra had given up thinking to do this, since theoretically speaking, standing could burn more Melintrose than what one could gather with the instruments in a Sun Course. Of course, it was right to try and conserve as much as possible, anything else would be risky, but Phre felt an itch within him — he needed to know whether standing was something he could do.
Slowly he begins removing the charge covers from his body, and with wavering doubts attempts to lift an arm. Oh, his bones, seemingly so weighty, nausea rising from his chest, he might throw up now, and as all this comes over him, the arm spasms and gives way. With every bit of effort, one could expect from a man that had lain horizontally underneath his charge covers his whole life, he raises his lead-like arm again towards his eye, with just the right balance of force and gentleness to swipe out his UV Prognector lenses. Breathless, and all the while wondering if he is, in fact, capable of rising to his feet.
“What in the hell are y’ doin’?” Ra blurts, almost hyperventilating.
“I am going to try to stand,” Phre says, so unsure it comes out all high at the end, rather like a question.
“Whatever for?” Ra said.
“I want to know I can, that’s all,” Phre says.
“What is the point you’ll use up all you’ve made this Sun Course; you’re wasting it.” Ra says.
Phre lay back assessing the situation. Standing is a bit of a long shot and would not only use up most of his quota, but the energy expended would also create a feedback loop, increasing its output rate over the coming Sun Course, even Two Sun Courses.
“I need to know” Phre defends.
Now Ra looked visibly frightened. After all, this: a rebellion of the highest kind. Nobody had gotten out from under their charge covers and removed their instruments since the mass suicides. Ra had some images of their great grandparents who had been part of this revolt in her Memory Bank. It had been said that a hundred and eight of the Dial Caste had removed themselves from their Sun Pods, lifted off their charge covers and had just started walking. Some younger ones, even ran, until their Melintrose depleted, starving themselves, slowly shrivelling up like scorched roots. The Compound Patrol had said that a young baby’s face had melted onto a rock from the sheer force of being without instruments, and today, still, the features of that baby could be traced in sandy stone. Nobody could reach that rock, so they could only ever imagine how it looked, and this type of thinking was not considered healthy.
Ra’s mother had often said that it had been too much imagining and talking amongst themselves that had poisoned each one of those one hundred and eight minds. Thinking ahead had got them all worked up, talking killed. ‘Talk is expensive,’ as they say.
By now, Phre had removed every single instrument and was focussing all efforts to lift his head. Ra had never really considered how a human head is a heavy thing, weighing roughly about the same as a white-tailed eagle. And to raise an eagle on a neck that had laid horizontal its whole life was no easy feat, nigh impossible. He tried to move it quickly, and his jaw took on a tightness that bit down on skin from his tongue, he felt a sharp sensation bore through blood, he tried to mind-dull it and not let out a shriek since Ra would find fault. His jaw had never moved around quite so much as now, and he was also burning up. In all his frenzy, he had pushed away his cooling vector.
He had spent a lifetime laying down there next to Ra, and she had been a pleasant companion. A face that he thought he would enjoy looking at a lifetime. Big grey eyes, a cute nose, one of her nostrils a slightly different shape to the other, which held a strange, captivating asymmetry that, depending on his mood, had different affects over him. Her lips were rather thin and crusty, and that had an overall ruining impact on her looks, he would sometimes try to cancel those parts out by lifting his gaze upwards, zoning out on the more beautiful parts of her face. And even though these days she was a little weathered, he saw glimpses of attractiveness that had never properly exercised its powers, because she had spent a lifetime unseen.
Now she was looking at him like he had gone mad. To move forwards, he decides to turn away from her, and she then starts to try to get his attention back by widening her gaze and licking her lips in that young teenage way. No, he mustn’t look! He begins to count the names of the Golden Eagles, deciding that on Suturi, he would seize himself and STAND, there could be no doubt, no fragmentation, for at this rate he would crumble to a heap in a cloud of sand dust.
“Please Phre, don’t do this. You cannot…you’re scaring me. Isn’t it enough for you to be here together?’ Ra pleads.
In his tightening to get his legs to move, Phre had not even considered what was going through Ra’s mind. There were creases about her forehead that he had never seen before. Clearly, he could see how she had long passed the stages of being a young woman. He had laid next to her a lifetime, and he only ever saw the child-woman, and it dawned on him that he’d never really looked at her as she is. Side-by-side; sharing little glances, soaking up energy from The Sun, being perfectly subdued and enough for one another. He had been lucky that he had that face to pair up with since she had been enough for him, he couldn’t imagine a better person to spend an aeon with.
In a second, he realised that her skin and features had changed more on the outsides than what was going on in her insides; when speaking, she was always the same old Ra, for she had only ever been a good citizen, staying in the certified zone, and looking back.
“Don’t be silly, I love you all The Sun” Phre responds.
“Then why are you doing this to me? What point are you trying to make? Lay back down, and I’ll stroke your hand.” Ra whispers.
Her eyes had taken on a strange sphinx-like quality; she had a way of stretching her spine and coiling that she knew he liked. These days she hardly ever offered to stroke his hand because it was a waste of Melintrose, yet she knew how much he liked it and that tempted him. It was just like his mum used to do it, so gentle and soft — on the edges of being tickled but not quite.
He sunk back down, letting his body give in to its usual pattern, a heavy sigh enveloping him…aahh…the relief. When he looked at Ra, she looked once again familiar, that deep worry line that had reared itself earlier no longer visible. With all the strength he could muster, he lifted his arm, placing his hand near to hers, so she could cup-it-up in that old way he liked and stroke it. She flicked it off.
“Put your covers and instruments back on then; you don’t want to lay here and let it be a waste,” Ra said.
He felt a jolt of red run through him, but maybe she was right, it had passed its hottest point, but he could probably at least make evens for this Sun Course, instead of just burning more than he’d gathered. Ra kicked the charge covers with her foot over to Phre, seeing that he had wasted so much for This Course, she felt this was the least she could do, she had already made 0.4 zps of her quota. With all the strength he had left within, he manoeuvred the covers with his foot stretching his arm down as far as it could go, pulling it up and around himself, jiggling-in to get snug. Now she was grinning at him, and her eyes seemed to be smiling too.
“That’s better. Go on, get your instruments back on then.” She says.
He had placed them within easy reach, and luckily, they were still plugged into the central shield, so all he had to do was slot them into the head of the Sun Pod, which was all within easy grasp. He felt exhaustion overtake him that he had not remembered ever feeling and wondered what had come over him to want even to try to get up.
“And your lenses.” Ra insists.
Oh, she did love him; he knew that. In all the kerfuffle he had nearly forgotten about those darn lenses, and the Sun’s fury would soon have lost him his sight. Reaching down he grabbed them out from the Vensticular and placed them over each eyeball, it was hard for them to settle since his eyes were all gummy, oh he just wanted for everything to go back to normal. He yawned wildly; he had exerted himself today that’s for sure.
“Haha, you’re so tired. Calm yourself, wanna look at that picture of me when I made that big yawn.” Ra said proudly.
“I’ve seen it so many times,” He says in that half jokey way where she knew that he wanted to see it.
She scrolled through pictures of herself thinking about her mother. And the one where she was picking her nose. Ha, she did have some good ones Phre thought.
“Look!” She pointed at the one where Phre had a sand fly land on his nose that was so weary it had stayed long enough for Ra to reach around and take a picture.
“Oh, that’s a great one,” he said.
"Yea, the best," she said, "Oh, here it is."
He could barely keep his eyes open now they were all stingy, but he thought she’d gone to all the trouble of scrolling to find it. He looked over, and there it was — Ra with her mouth wide open yawning. He let out a breathy laugh through a broad smile, secretly wondering whether he would get that hand stroke that she’d promised him earlier. He crawled his hand towards hers and placed it nearby, their skin touching.
“Not now,” she says.
Oh well, it’s the thought that counts, Phre mused, he was mighty tired by now anyways and had pretty much given up on the idea. It would be a bonus, but the tiredness was so that he didn't care anymore. He felt a soothing haze complete him, the kind where you know that in a few moments you'll be out for the count.