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Breeding Stock

At it again. This week we had to keep the piece between 250 and 500 words. I wrapped mine up at 650+ and then cut it down to 498. Phew. I left the better words, I think. Hope you enjoy.

If you choose to write your own take on the prompt, be sure to share it with me. I’d love to read it.

Sci-fi Prompt #2

A malevolent alien species takes over the earth and kills off the human population with an alien virus that can only be cured with their advanced technology. They are only keeping the most beautiful humans alive to create half-alien/half-human beings.

One of N232’s favorite things about Earth was coffee.

Her friends had at first been repulsed by the idea of her drinking it—didn’t she know that once those tiny grounds were dried beans and, before that, were part of a plant?—but she had countered that if they were to fully meld with these creatures and become one flesh, a perfectly crafted being physically and mentally far surpassing both humans and Zeyarath, then they would have to compromise.

Not that she convinced them, but they stopped nagging her.

N232 sat in a chair, even though standing would have been just as comfortable, and examined the male specimen before her. He had just finished the procedure, the one he had to do once a week. It couldn’t be missed. It was the reason he was still alive.

He sat across from her. She had made him a cup of coffee, and he sipped it and examined her almost as closely as she did him.

That’s why she liked him. That’s why she sat with him. That’s why she made him coffee once a week.

He wasn’t scared. He never wept. He never asked about his family.

She wondered if he had had one. Before the Zeyarath arrived, cleansing the Earth with the virus.

The male said something.

He had never spoken before, and N232’s translator didn’t pick it up. She turned the dial under her ear from Standard Human Dialect to auto-detect.

“Say that again?” She was pleased with how well she had modulated her voice. It was nearly human. And the translator took care of comprehension.

If not for her metal skin and the tubes that intersected across her chest and over her shoulders and down her back, she might have been human.

“Do you have a name?” the male asked again.

“I am N232.”

The male scoffed. “So, let me guess. Your mother is N231?”

“Oh, no. The Zeyarath have no parents. The stars built us.” N232 smiled. She couldn’t really smile, but she imagined herself smiling. With a lovely human face.

“The stars, huh?” The male sipped his coffee. “I thought you lot were supposed to be intelligent.”

N232 tapped the edge of her mug. “All creatures have their myths,” she said. “But we have no parents. We became sentient, and then we were. That is all.”

“Hmm.” The male nodded his head in exaggerated arcs. “Got it. Robots.”

She sighed. She made a sighing noise. N232 didn’t actually breath air. “Humans always seek to explain everything in simple, human terms. If we are robots, then so are you. Everything is created from something else. That is the way of the cosmos.”

Although the conversation could have been vexing, and very well may have angered some of N232’s close numbers, she was thrilled. These were her first words with a human, and she knew she was killing it. The conversation, of course. She had no intention of killing this male.

He was an excellent breeder.

I’m going to be in Death Valley for the next few days. If you don’t hear from me, blame the internet. I’ll be back, for sure, by Friday, May 6th. Looking forward to sharing some of my adventures with you!

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