"What happened to the sparrow?"
"It flew off."
"Flew off?"
"It untangled itself from her hair, shot up a gum tree then headed south east." The woman spoke with an English accent.
"Back to Melbourne I suppose, nothing of it since?"
"Tell me Perez, how do we track a sparrow?" Perez's eyes went half lid. Fuck the animal kingdom he thought. Over the ages man had got a strangle hold on the beasts, domesticating them, tricking them into forgetting their natures, then selectively breeding stupidity. The ones that would not submit were slaughtered in the name of fear, sport and science. Farm animals were a shadow of their former selves, dogs were a joke, cats, his mind raced to find an explanation for cats, he said:
"Maybe cats are the real masters."
"Excuse me Perez?"
"Nothing Jane, my mind had wandered. Listen, are we still interested in this girl without her sparrow friend?" Perez looked over to Jane. Her eyes met his coldly, the air between the gaze mingled strangely, finally she said:
"No. She is unlikely to get through the night, the yokels she has played with are unpredictable, they will scape goat her for anything, soured milk, hurt feelings, murder."
"So no help, we let chance look after her?"
"Yes. If she manages to interfaced with Prophet I will let it decide. Or if the sparrow returns we will materially assist. In the meantime, why don't you carry on watching her flesh?" Perez had to admit, she had a sexuality that appealed to him. He knew why - Mnemosyne didn't know what she had. That was attractive. Mnemosyne, the old name, come to the fore at the end, the goddess of memory. He stroked his precise beard and looked up at a screen, it outlined a group of people in high agitation. Mnem was caught in a drama that might have her face down in a muddy dam. Perez found himself wishing for the return of the sparrow.
YOU ARE READING
The Pole Shift
Science FictionEarth Crust Displacement, a theoretical and devastating geological event supported by Albert Einstein. What if it was about to happen, what if we knew it was upon us? What if some of us were being watched . . .
