He tried to lift
his arm, but he only could listen to an annoying mechanical whirring sound in
answer. Something, somewhere within that robot he was inside, was burning.
—Can you move? —he
asked.
—No —Emily
replied. He could not move his head, so he only saw Emily’s robot as a static
image, surrounded by debris—. But I want to do so. Unfortunately, all my
systems are damaged.
—The last
communication received by this thing of mine was about a large-scale attack on
this planet. In twenty-seven minutes.
—So we are goint
to die —Emily nonchalantly commented, as if that situation couldn’t affect her.
—Every time I hop
on one of these —he started—, it happens I don’t remember anything but some
sort of disconnected flashbacks.
—Same here. I
guess you draw this conclusión too: this makes no sense.
—I’m afraid I’m
going to need you to be more specific. What do you mean?
—What has anyone
to gain from sending a soldier to a war if he doesn’t remember what he has learnt?
—I don’t know… Have
you drawn any more conclusions?
—Of course: we
haven’t learnt at all.
—But I’ve got a
life.
—Actually, we have
nothing other than this —Emily stated—. At least, not whenever we are here, so
no, we don’t even have evidence enough to confirm we have a life.
—I have a body, I
know it because of this unspeakable pain of broken bones and ribs.
—Definitely.
—I’m starting to
get scared… —he said.
—Now?! You mean
that fleet about to devastate this planet in which we are trapped in less than twenty-seven
minutes was something purely anecdotal to you?! —Emily had a sad smile on her
face—. I don’t think we’re human. But we have a human aesthetic sense, so I
won’t stare at my reflection in the mirror, just in case.
—What are you
saying? If we weren’t human, what sense would it make to give us self-awareness
and pain?
—That looks like a
perfect question for God.
—I don’t believe
anybody can answer it —he said, giving up.
—Maybe instead of
logic there’s only cruelty.
—That’s absurd.
—We are on a
battlefield, if you can reasonably explain this to me, we’ll go nowhere, and I’ll
get you a drink —Emily defied him—. I’d like to get in this philosophical mode
to speak about the universe’s amorality, but —she grunted with effort— I’m
going to open the hatch out of here.
—No! The gases
will melt your skin! They say the pain is unbearable! — he cried in terror.
—We are already
dead and none of this makes sense —she clarified—, what are we two people like
us here? It’s not even credible as fiction. At least, I want the truth.
War by Marta Roussel Perla is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.
Based on a work at https://martarousselperla.blogspot.com/.
