Michelle sounded excited. Strange, she’d taken her medication - an opium derivative mixed with high-grade ectoplasm.
I swiveled my head one-eighty, and toggled the retina on my tungsten eyeball. The pupil focused on the window pane.
Read: Eco-planetarium enclosure. Earth year 8011.
Michelle and I were the lone survivors of WW7. We were humanized invertebrates, in old-fashioned terminology. Outside, galactic entities raged an unceasing assault on our fortress.
Read: alien life forms – parasitic zealots.
Amos, my in-built computer, had calculated that we had four minutes to live – give or take a micro-second – unless…
…There wasn’t an option.
Until my lens zoomed in.
I fed the picture into Amos’ data bank for analysis. It took a mind-boggling three minutes five seconds – Amos could evaluate whole planetary systems in that time.
‘It’s a fly,’ I said.
It’s a fly!
Michelle turned around. She moved across and hugged me. ‘Oh, Stephen.’
I sucked in a breath. ‘Our first.’
The slit in her face opened. Out poured more – battalion after battalion.
Genetically designed to feed on the aliens.
‘Open the window,’ I said.