Dahrine erupts. “I hate you for taking him away in a such a slow, painful way! And making me watch!”

  I wait as long as necessary for my human to reconstitute. Refrain from rushing your clients. Allow their slow and fitful processing to dictate the pace of the work. This strategy results in naturalized mem assimilation.

  After three minutes of ranting, Dahrine notices the engineered samples of steak tartare, saffron shellfish paella, black truffles, and fried okra on the wood table. “I don't know what any of this is.”

  “Try, Dahrine. It's what Prof ate on the presidential terrace.”

  She hesitatingly nibbles. The food is laced with micro-doses of sedative. She deserves some relief. I continue Susine's journal as my human chews.

  Dear Brivo, you might remember when we lived near a big rock that I named the Slab.

  A few days ago, here on the farm, I established another place-- the clearing-- a spot of flat earth, bordered by a blackberry hedge.

  I'll backtrack first... the days are blurring. I want to record this diligently for you, dear Brivo.

  When I arrived in my borrowed hauler at the spot Roxan directed me to, there was no sign of Glia. I hovered at 10 meters and saw fresh marks in the grass as if a large object had been dragged across the ground.

  Half a kilometer away I found the smashed pod with Glia buckled in it, barely conscious and injured. There were no guards to stop me providing medical aide and loading her aboard the hauler. I had hoped Baba would be there, too. But, I see that he traded himself for her release.

  For the past couple days, I stayed with Glia in the clearing, putting fresh rosemary on her forehead and chest. I collected smooth rocks and warmed them in the sun to pile against the soles of her bare feet.

  I'm not at all accustomed to the act of dying-- when muscles stop functioning, organs cease their jobs, slower breathing, then gasps, cold hands, blood bruises gathering in areas as circulation slows, puddle of urine.

  This morning Glia became a familiar thing to me, a corpus.

  “Finally!” Dahrine clears her throat. “Let me jump in here, Seebi.”

  Dahrine speaks slowly but with certainty. “The vultures are tearing away her flesh with their powerful beaks. I left the clearing for the last time and did not look back. The brambles will knit together across the space behind me. It will be reabsorbed-forgotten. I plan to head to Vinlandia, out there where I deeply believe you are, Brivo. This is my purpose until the All recycles me.”

  “Exceptional work, Dahrine. You do your species proud.”

  “So. What is Prof's plan, Seebi? I know he has one. Make it a good one.”

  “Let's see what you think of this, Dahrine.”

  I adopt a narration voice. “An aberrant posting appeared for eight seconds on the public, live-sync CoMem system.”

  I project the following in front of my human's eyes:

  I never have been aboard a ship of any type. – Elena Prehvost.

  Hell is empty and all the devils are here. – William Shakespeare.

  The victor will never be asked if he told the truth. – Adolf Hitler.

  My human sounds drowsy. “Seebi. What are you doing? You know I want Prof to survive all this.”

  “That is known, Dahrine. I have more to share with you.”

  I employ official narration. “Dear citizens, briefly this evening, CoMem was interrupted with harmless-nonsensical gibberish in an isolated segment. The Body regrets any inconvenience. Our epic, vast, wondrous CoMem remains completely protected and fully intact.

  “To whit, a Body consultant caused this temporary blip. He was hired to perform routine work on the CoMem infrastructure and during his diagnostic tests he inadvertently posted the dummy text. The President views the action as a harmless oops. Nevertheless, the deviant consultant has been purge-terminated.”

  Dahrine balls her hands into fists. “What?! So that's it? Prof is gone and you took him… you stole him from me! For no good reason!”

  “I know you see it that way.” I prepare to collect eye secretions.

  She crosses her arms at her chest. “So angry at you, Seebi!”

  Stolen story; please report.

  Ten seconds later, I state, “Remember what happened when Glia was supposed to be--”

  “Are you trying to tell me in your cryptic, warped, machine way that I should have hope!?”

  Hope is a human expression that I find particularly irrational, but exceedingly useful to us.

  After one minute of silence, I probe. “He left a letter. Would you like to read it?”

  My human crawls under the table and remains shut down for a further five minutes.

  Then, she blurts, “I can't refuse! You know that!”

  I arrange for a pulp version to be delivered to the floor under the table near Dahrine. She reads quietly.

  My dear Susine,

  “To live is to be in a state of creation”-Jean-Claude Athané.

  Through omission or fabrication, we create everything as stories. And, there are so many materials to work with-- our perceptions, choices, kismet happenings, personalities, feelings, tendencies-- all available for making a life worth living.

  Why not have it authentic? Yes!

  Messy? Sure!

  Uncontrolled? Necessarily!

  Exuberant? Of course!

  Fearful? At times!

  Uncharted and unscripted? Absolutely!

  A work of art? Let's hope!

  I have a story for our Brivo… A long time ago, before I met you and your wonderful momma, I lived in a far away place where ancestors protected everyday life. In this village, a baby was born and day by day it shriveled thinner. The mother told me the infant would not keep food in. I asked if I could help and she said to talk to the village chief.

  The chief and I were on good terms. I was welcomed and sat near him in his thatch-roofed meeting chamber. I spoke to him scientifically about how a simple fluid of salt, sugar, and clean water could help the baby live. I proudly told him I could make such a solution. He listened until I had run out of well-intentioned words.

  Then, he told me, “That baby is destined to die. No one can do anything about it.”

  He could see I was not comprehending.

  He explained further. “The baby must be taken to avenge a wrong that has lingered for generations. This is the right way.”

  My belief that science was always the answer crumbled in that moment. As did my illusion that I could solve everything.

  The baby died and it was taken care of quietly and solemnly, with faith that the curse was broken.

  Who was I to think I had the right answer? On this question and many more, my unsettled mind still twitches, and I am glad for it.

  My little Brivo, dare to remember things and events and people that challenge you. Don't forget discomfort that pokes at what you think you know. Make a wondrous collection of wild memories. And know that you are cherished in mine.

  Once and forever. Prof/ Your Baba

  My human crawls out from under the table and quietly asks, “Seebi, what if I forget the details of all this? I want to remember this.”

  “It matters not what details you technically remember or forget, Dahrine. The experiences are woven into your native memory-making capability. The feelings are in your cellular structure. In other words, they are yours forever. We discussed setting your course and sailing across the vast memory sea.”

  She curls up her body.

  After two minutes, I say, “You are changed from when we first met, Dahrine. You have released burdens that you had been saddled with.”

  I continue. “You have taken selves on test runs in ways you never could have within one traditional lifetime of bumbling as a human. This is all to your benefit, I'm sure you can see.”

  My human gnaws at her fingernails as I speak. “Dahrine, if you can rise above temporary pain, pass through grief, and dodge resentment, you will have a greater viewpoint on life and a jump start towards achieving your own bliss.”

  Dahrine uses her palms to cover her eye sockets for an unknown reason.

  I gently inquire, “Dahrine, do you remember how the Professor first greeted Nir?”

  She shakes her head.

  I replay the interaction in Prof's voice. “We fear no moment. Step by step, we remember our way forward.”

  She whispers, “Step by step, we remember our way forward.”

  I suggest to her that we rejoin Susine.

  My human clearly states, “I want to set her free.”

  “Of course you do, darlsweet.” I switch to Dahrine's voice for the last time.

  This little pulp journal + charcoal stub are my sole indulgences, my sanity-savers on my journey to you, Brivo.

  An hour ago, my borrowed farm pod ran out of fuel. I coasted it down to two meters above a dry river bed and jumped, landing in the loose sand.

  The empty pod glided on for a bit. I watched it pierce through evergreen branches and it reminded me of another world, another time when I sewed my first emerald shawl, pushing the needle through the dark green fabric.

  I heard the thud as the pod hit the ground out of sight and felt the vibration.

  Presently on foot. Glad to be back on the ground. The weather is colder. Tonight I'll sleep under a thick pile of pine needles. Goodnight.

  Today I made progress. Ever closer to you, Brivo. The lights of the border crossing are in sight.

  I have no identification and no one to vouch for me. But, I dwell in my comfort zone of being a lone wolf who no one cares to notice.

  I am peaceful and fueled by purpose. How cold it is tonight-- silent and crystalline. I crouch, conserving body heat, waiting for dawn. Goodnight.

  Brivo, imagine-- today at the border, I was allowed entry as a returning Vinlandese citizen! As if! Surely Roxan had something to do with this, may blessings flow to her.

  With frost crystals on the dried leaves glinting in the day's first light, I left the border behind and aimed for a village in the distance. Arriving in the empty square, I was the only one at the communal water pump. I worked the frigid, metal handle until clear water flowed and quenched my thirst.

  A few minutes later, the first villagers arrived, grateful that I had warmed up the pump. I inquired of them how to locate Nir Busveldt, a resident somewhere in Vinlandia.

  They conferred in their dialect as they worked to fill bucketfuls of water, steam puffing out their mouths and noses, sweat vaporizing into drifting clouds off their backs in the strengthening sunlight.

  One told me with a smile, “None of us know him directly, but stay in town today. We'll find the answer for you.”

  I feel closer to you and to your Baba who set this plan in motion.

  You should know, in case you ever need them, that the rest of my writings that document our early life together are buried in a canister at the foot of the biggest oak tree south of the Slab on the Genubei compound.

  For now, on this day, in this small notebook, just about full... I cherish you, Brivo.