Yoo Retoont, Sneogg. Ay Noo

12

They woke to a gray, cold dawn. Tib was more talkative and animated than ever. She amazed him. In his memory she had been beautiful but not that aware of things. He saw that they were all developing mentally, not just he, who had been named a person, Tibsnorg Pieckymoosy.

He thought, “Maybe everyone, if given enough time…”

They waited for Dringenboom to come. Snorg was counting on Abe’s driving up in his giant truck and giving them food, and then all together they would figure out what to do next. Dringenboom was their only chance. They waited and waited, watching the string of vehicles in the distance carrying rocks from the city. Hunger gnawed at them. Around noon, a yellow sun showed through the clouds. It grew dazzlingly bright. Tib and Snorg stood side by side in a ray of sun and beheld the shadows they cast. Such a clean, clear sun. They saw it for the first time in their lives.

“If they made me the control unit of a machine, could I see this often?” Piecky wondered, peering out the window.

“I don’t know. Maybe they would let you keep your eyes,” said Snorg, but doubtfully. “You haven’t been named a person, so they might treat your brain as just material. Only those people have a right to keep their eyes who lost their bodies to an incurable illness. But it’s not impossible that you’d be installed in one of those great shovels… and you’d need your eyes for that. And with your intelligence, who knows?…”

He was interrupted by the roar of engines, a roar that definitely didn’t come from a truck. Snorg paled, understanding that Dringenboom would never bring them food. The roar grew and made the ground vibrate. Multicopters began to land around the building, heavy flying machines of the defense forces.

“One… two… three,” Snorg counted, feeling his face turn numb.

Tib pressed to him with all her strength. “Them… Wha we did mayd n’senss,” she whispered, watching the armored copters land.

Around the machines appeared small figures in gray uniforms, helmets, and bulletproof vests. They jumped nimbly to the ground and waded through the dust to the building. Snorg saw that they were armed with rifles, and a few carried laser guns.

“All those cannons for us?” he thought wryly. “Do they intend to level the house?”

He didn’t even try to count the commandos. There were at least fifty. They quickly took up positions around the house.

“Tibsnorg Pieckymoosy!” boomed a sudden, shrill voice. “You have no hope. Surrender. Surrendering the stolen biological material now will mitigate your sentence. Your accomplice, Abraham Dringenboom, has been placed under arrest.”

Tib was looking hard at him. She seemed to understand. He repeated to her what the loudspeaker had said, making sure she could see his mouth.

“Tibsnorg Pieckymoosy!” the speaker repeated. Piecky said nothing, terror in his eyes.

“Shit… shit…,” said Snorg, standing in the middle of the room and holding Tib.

“Buh wee only wan t’live,” she whispered, looking at him.

“…will mitigate,” the voice was booming, when a noise began at the door. Suddenly a powerful explosion blew the door apart. Two commandos jumped inside, like lightning, and fell to the floor, aiming at Snorg.

“Good maneuvers,” he thought.

They were extremely capable. A third commando appeared in the smoking hole. He had a colorful winged dragon painted on his bulletproof vest, which reached below his hips. The man stood motionless on spread, muscular legs, aiming at Snorg with a revolver that had a long barrel. He held the gun with both hands, arms extended. In place of a nose he had a single black nostril, and he bared his teeth. The teeth, with the lack of eyelids, gave his face the look of a skull.

“You wanted to be first,” Snorg thought. “For this you’ll be able to buy yourself a new face. Unless they consider that the ones on the floor were first…”

Snorg looked at the prone commandos. The one standing followed Snorg’s eyes. More commandos rushed into the room through the broken door and immediately fell to the floor. The one standing, as if reading Snorg’s mind, again swept his eyes over the prone soldiers. He stiffened, reaching a decision. For another brief moment he regarded Snorg through the plastic helmet, regarded him with those lidless bug eyes.

And although none of the three fugitives had moved an inch, a shot rang out, and Tib, who had been shielding Snorg with her body, went limp in his arms. Snorg felt something constrict his throat. He didn’t hear the second shot. The yellow flash before him became a row of bright spots and then went out.

—Kraków, October 1984