Hello, dwellers. Today I bring you the final story from my book RADICAL INDEFINIDO. Actually, it’s not even a story; it’s a closing note to the book, a brief reflection. I also bring you the magnificent illustration created by the advanced organism Martín Sampedro for this tale.
Click to enlarge
THE STANDARD GOD
It was by chance. I didn't want to reach Andlösgråt, I didn't want to see it, to be certain that it existed. But I saw it. And ever since, everything in my circuits has changed. Information takes time to traverse the bioneurons and reach its destination, the ethical ions continuously churn, exuding a nauseating vapor that prevents me from concentrating, from thinking, from performing the simplest activity with the slightest precision or joy.
Yes, it was by chance. My interplanetary ship was traversing Alpha Centauri in search of the mythical ALF (Askatasuna Libertaris Felizidanka) when a loud noise in the side thrusters alerted me, forcing me to reduce speed. I soon verified that something serious was happening, something I couldn't repair on the fly. I threw myself over the quantum maps looking for some zero-gravity oasis that would allow me to land, and it was then, in that uncertain and confusing moment, when I read «Andlösgråt». I had never heard of that planetoide before, but the harsh, insistent hum of the thruster left me no room to inquire about my new destination. I set the coordinates on the sidereal quadrant and engaged emergency navigation. A slow, uniform flight cadence, interrupted only by the hoarse blasts of the broken thruster, accompanied my descent.
My old Thompson Space Pilgrim interplanetary ship landed smoothly, without incident despite the breakdown weighing me down. Upon stepping out of the cabin, right before my ocular circuits, I saw an enormous, colossal metal creature. It was a Standard God of forged metal. A God traversing what looked like a secondary road on the planetoid Andlösgråt. Thousands of humanoid creatures, connected to the God through steel cables and tubes, followed it in silence under the rain. Each and every humanoid marched illuminated by a flame rising from their heads, like obscure saints receiving a revelation, or abyssal miners in search of the ultimate truth. The massive Standard God had a sad face, deeply sad, perhaps due to the lack of independence and self-esteem displayed by its followers. It didn't utter a word, didn't tell its parishioners what was right or wrong; it merely limited itself, like any self-respecting God, to remaining silent—observing, studying, learning, to eventually enhance its contribution to a better Universe.
Yet the humanoid creatures refused to let go. They begged for instructions, norms, rules, manuals, recipes, training, guidance, order, analysis, imagination, precepts, catastrophes, and celebrations too—though not overly loud, just modest enough not to dislodge the framed pictures in the hallway.
The rain would not stop. At the base of my old ship, a wide puddle began to form, iridescent with the fuel dripping from the accumulator. The warm, relentless tears welling from the Standard God merged with the rain. That was how the God managed to disguise its disappointment and grief over Humanity. Rain, rain on the face.
Because humanoids do not get wet. Some even carry umbrella devices. Others acquire a boat to navigate through the weeping, both their own and others'. Navigators of the absurd, of the cosmic mirage.
Suddenly, amid the deluge, I heard a song. A song I wrote light-years ago in the place where I was born, in Humanoid City. Where my circuits were assembled.
Five hundred and twelve days of endless rain,
walking among the drops,
mud clinging to my feet,
waiting for the flood
you promised me the other day.
Umbrellas unfold,
heads tightly covered,
they almost poke my eye out,
I still have one left to watch
a deaf, one-eyed old man vomit,
he looks a damn lot like me.
Five hundred and twelve days of endless rain
and that's how it goes,
that's how it goes.
After the song, the Standard God of forged metal looked in my direction and sighed. I believe it also stuck its tongue out at me.
© Max Nitrofoska
You can buy RADICAL INDEFINIDO at this LINK
Leer en español
