Dark Planet: Life Sentence

Will is a retired chiropractor who lives in Pacific Grove, California. This story was originally published in Aberrations.

The storm of contrived events wound down to a safe, bland conclusion, followed by static. Cody turned away from the set and left the cubicle as the scrambled commercials began. Long ago, it had been decided that it merely bred dangerous discontent to hawk goods to people who lacked currency.

Seeking something, anything, to relieve his chronic restlessness, he cruised Facility hallways as long and drab as his tedium. Relief came in a large package: Merica.

"Cody! Just the guy I was looking for." When she smiled, you could see the old Merica, the Merica of two hundred pounds ago, before even her facial features were subsumed in a mask of gluttony.

Cody returned her smile. He was always glad to see her. Fifteen years ago they had been lovers for a short while, just before she gave up. With the surrender of her spirit, a meanness had emerged. She attacked food with the disdain of a dissolute general for an inferior foe. Her sharp tongue reinforced her self-imposed isolation. For Cody alone did she show signs of the upbeat personality of long ago, though they seldom ran into each other these days.

Merica took his arm. "I have something important to discuss with you."

She led him to the nearest unoccupied video cubicle and muted the sound. There were no controls to extinguish the six-foot screen, which provided the only illumination in the windowless, featureless room. The bare walls reflected the swirling, bubbling colors, giving an underwater feel to the place. One came here to be transfixed, as within the confines of an aquarium. Some came to drown.

He felt Merica's eyes on him. "You're still looking good, Cody." At 33, he remained lean, with a full head of hair. His erect carriage added stature to his average height. But there was an unkempt look to him, more than merely the crumpled Facility clothing. He hadn't shaved in three days and over the years his eyes had adopted the furtive look of a caged animal.

Cody shrugged. "So, what's this all about?"

"I've been seeing a Lygrid."

Cody cocked his head forward in surprise.

She chose to chuckle at his reaction. Another, she might have challenged with, "What of it?"

Like most people, Cody was aware of Lygrid only from the news briefs, never actually having seen one. At any particular time they numbered only about 10,000, making each of them literally one in a million. They had been visiting the Earth over the last four years now. After the initial flurry, things had settled down quickly, and Earth took full advantage of this new tourist trade.

Basically, vacationing Lygrid received copious local currency for the dribble of technological doodads their government occasionally bestowed on Earth. Besides slumming, they lavishly spent their money on art objects which they then removed from the Earth forever. This generated an ongoing controversy which slowed not one iota the steady attrition of the heritage of millennia.

Not knowing quite what to say, Cody allowed himself only the most innocuous of questions: "For how long?"

"Several weeks now." She smiled. "And I know what you're thinking, `How do we do it?' Well, I'm not getting into comparative anatomy, just accept that we do. His exoskeleton is more partial, and more," she chuckled, "utilitarian, than you might think. I'm not going to relieve your imagination. Go with it."

The images that crossed Cody's mind were tainted by the size differential; the average Lygrid (and they were all average) was half the size of the average Earth female, from which norm Merica deviated widely. This almost rendered the color and facial aperture distribution differences secondary.

Cody decided not to be shocked. "So why tell me? It's not like I'm going to be jealous."

"I have a favor to ask. And don't go weird on me."

Yikes, Cody thought, what now?

Merica took a breath and continued. "I want out. I'm dying here; hell, we all are. This is my ticket. Beyond a vacation fling, sometimes, rarely, a Lygrid marries an Earth female and takes her back to Lygris. I need to get him to really like, maybe even love, me. I thought of a way you can help me work on Bob Plato."

Those last two words put Cody over the edge, into the sublime. He had to laugh. "Bob Plato?! His name is Bob Plato?"

Merica was glad for the laughter. She had been afraid of rejection. "Yeah, isn't that something? Sometimes a Lygrid will assume an Earth name while here. I don't know if it's from a sense of fun or an attempt to achieve a more authentic experience. Anyway, `Plato' was chosen to honor one of our greats, and `Bob' to make himself accessible, one of the guys."

The laughter died out, leaving both of them feeling a bit more comfortable.

Cody shook his head. "Have you thought all this out?"

Merica was serious now. "Yes. There is wealth in Lygris, and luxury far beyond anything here. I realize I'll be isolated and maybe never fully accepted. But, hell, our own society doesn't really accept us, just tries to forget us."

A dark look momentarily clouded her face, to be replaced an instant later with enthusiasm, as she continued.

"I know he values me. As exactly what, I'm not sure ... a kind of pet ... another object of art ... a status symbol .... I hope for more, but any of those would be enough." She paused. "Like the blondes in old Japanese films, I would be appreciated for my rarity -- and also, incidently, my girth. With their partial exoskeletons, which are not shed after adulthood, gaining weight is not an option for them. I would be prized there for what I'm reviled for here." She sighed. "This is my last and only chance to feel good about my life."

Cody understood. As members of the vast Video Class, they had never worked and never would. There was no work for their teeming millions. The politicians preferred to call them the Free Class: free cafeteria, free dormitory, free video, free medication, and (when more extensive medical intervention was required) free euthanasia. Free Facility Folk. Free Free Free. Their docility paid for.

And what about himself? With a CCEN of 62, capital punishment was a looming possibility in his future. There were no more prisons, no money or space for that luxury. You were sentenced simply with a number, your Cumulative Criminal Execution Number. It was a matter of inexorable addition: When Cody had reached CCEN-25, he was sterilized; and since passing CCEN-50, he was no longer innocent until proven guilty, but the reverse. At CCEN-75, he would be tattooed as a ready-made suspect. And when his CCEN reached 100 ... well, his occasional venturesomeness would be paid for, in full, and without fanfare.

So, he could understand wanting out, really wanting out. In a way, most of his CCEN-62 was attributable to wanting out: sector trespass. It wasn't that hard to get the perfect score. Thousands achieved that very temporary distinction daily.

Merica's voice broke his reverie. "All my life...." She shook her head, then continued. "At night, I dream other lives. During the day, I vid other lives." Her eyes were gleaming as she finished. "Now, I want to live my own life ... my own story."

He took her fleshy hand in his. "What do you want me to do?"
* * *

Compared to the squalor of the surrounding buildings, the Greener Grass was certainly brighter and cleaner, if not organic in any sense. There was even a functioning street light in front, holding a moonless night at bay.

The last time he had been to a place like this it had cost him 8 CCEN points. But, with the currency Merica gave him (after pawning the necklace Bob Plato had given her), Cody had managed to acquire some cross-sector clothes, with enough left over for the cover charge and a few drinks. He wouldn't be accosted.

The place wasn't as fantastic as the nightclubs in the old films, but then nothing was anymore. However, he was charged with excitement and this felt like the height of adventure. So, when he spotted Merica and Bob Plato in a corner by themselves, he was in no hurry to go over.

From his vantage point at the elevated bar, he could see most of the room. There was another Lygrid across the L-shaped bar from him. Evidently, this was a place where Lygrid were seen frequently enough to generate little curiosity. Cody tried not to be obvious in his observation of the alien.

It was easy to see how rumors of Lygrid strength had started. The alien had a compact power, a denseness of being. Cody guessed the Lygrid would nearly match his weight, though he was more than twice its size. There was a sense of control in its attitude, an assurance that an alien world couldn't shake. These things combined with the sheen of an orange-hued exoskeleton to generate a magnetic quality about the creature. Right now there were three women in the Lygrid's orbit; none in Cody's.

Though he would have liked to approach one of the glittering women here, neither his general nor specific circumstances allowed for that possibility. Besides, he had no store of happy banter, and his default bitterness would not likely prove much of an aphrodisiac. But he appreciated the visuals, anyway.

A waft of perfume recalled something from Merica's growing store of interplanetary trivia: "As a planet can only truly be named by its indigenous sapient species, some planets do not have a sound associated with them, since communication there is not by vibrating the atmosphere, but by broadcasting scents. On one such planet, a common greeting is: `Your odor precedes you.'" Cody chuckled as he briefly envisioned approaching one of these perfumed ladies with that line.

The band started up and soon the speaker-floor was crowded. Occasionally, he noticed a couple saunter away to enjoy a privacy cubicle. He suspected there also were booths in the back with the much-touted SynapticIntellivisioN (SIN). But such an extravagance was far beyond his reach.

He savored the emerald lighting and his chartreuse drink. The unlit antidote bar, near the exit, was empty at this early hour. With the price of antidotes at five times that of intoxicants, Cody would metabolize his drinks the old fashioned way, with a hangover.

He ordered another drink, his third, and thought over Merica's plan. He didn't think much of it, except that it did get him this one night on the town. As he had to create a small scene, he was opening himself up to a slight but nagging risk of exposure. There was also the uncertainty of challenging the Lygrid penchant for nonviolence.

After an hour, Cody ran out of money. It was time. He walked over to their table and feigned recognizing Merica just then. He assumed a drunken sway and a loud slur.

"Merica, how ya doin'?" He leaned heavily on their table. "Glory, you've put on some weight!"

The Lygrid watched Cody carefully, then directed his attention to a device in front of him. A few heads turned their way.

Merica looked flustered as she effected introductions. "This is Bob Plato." She nodded. "And my old friend, Cody."

Cody exaggerated an attempt to focus on Bob Plato, then stiffened. "Good God, you're with a Lizard!"

Merica stood up. "Cody, get a hold on yourself. Bob Plato is a very close friend of mine, and I won't stand for you abusing him."

"How 'close' are we talking about, Merica?" Cody leered at her. "Surely not...."

"Surely, yes. And I think you'd better leave."

"You bitch! How can you take up with a ... a thing like this? You're not human any more. No one will have anything to do with you. I'll tell every--"

For the first time, Cody noticed the moving lights on Bob Plato's vox-box. It had been translating everything for him. Now Bob Plato was saying something and the words were translated out in red flowing print across the three foot device: "Shall I escort this gentleman from our vicinity, Meri?"

"Oh, great. Now we have subtitles. Don't worry, I'm leaving, you feces-species." He glared at Merica. "You're disgusting!"

Merica had slid down to her seat, hands to her face, tears flowing down her cheeks.

"That's right, cry, you traitor. You're an outcast, now!"

Cody was about to beat a hasty retreat before management arrived, but the red print streaming across the vox-box stopped him for a moment.

"What?" he shouted at Bob Plato. But there was no time -- a bouncer was approaching. Cody ran off into the night.
*

Cody had fallen asleep pondering Bob Plato's last remark. What did it mean? It still flowed across his mind in red light: "No wonder your species has received such a bad sentence!"

Now, he was waiting for Merica to join him for lunch and discuss the effectiveness of their little act of last night.

When she arrived she was all smiles. "It worked like a charm. There's nothing like a few tears to warm the innards of any male. After your attack, he felt so protective. When I told him that loving him was worth the price of virtual exile among my own people, he assured me I need not pay that price." She laughed. "I could become an exile among his people, instead. He asked me to return with him to Lygris, as his wife!"

"Great. It worked. I don't believe it. Mrs. Potato Head."

Merica looked at him. "Why the sarcasm?"

"I don't know, nothing. When are you leaving?"

"Soon, three days. One thing, it's no big deal, but I thought I'd let you know. As his wife, well, it's more of a harem, it turns out. But that's okay with me. I'll be number one for a year or two, then.... He assures me, everyone will respect me and want to please me. I'll be special, forever."

"I'm happy for you." But he couldn't force a smile.

Merica's look was sympathetic. "I wish you could come too."

"No, that's not my way out. Guess I'm here for the duration." He shrugged. "By the way, that last thing Bob Plato said to me, did you get to read it?"

"No, why?"

When Cody repeated it to her, she was as perplexed as he. "Sentence? Sounds like we're being judged."

"No, sounds like we have been judged. And sentenced."

"Hmm. I'll ask Bob about it tonight."
* * *

The next day at lunch they met again. The enormous room was packed and the resultant clamor provided the insulation necessary for a private conversation.

They had virtually the same nondescript food, Cody's served bland, Merica's spicy. As before, Cody wondered how Merica maintained an appetite sufficient to get obese on such pathetic fare. He knew she would eat lunches until dinners, going from cafeteria to cafeteria -- unlike his glorious days, spent roving between video cubicles.... He took his first bite.

"Have I got news for you," Merica started.

Cody found himself eager to hear. "Go ahead."

"Okay, that remark about us receiving a 'bad sentence' -- we have. Let me give you some background. Not all Lygrid have come here merely for recreation. Some of them have been gathering information on us for the past four years."

"Military secrets, you mean?"

"No, nothing like that; just a determination, from their point of view, of who we are, our worth, like that. They've lived among us, interacting, and also studying our history, our literature and our art. Probably those ridiculous videos, also."

"Anthropologists, then?"

"More than that. They report back to the League of Planets, in which the Lygrid are only one of hundreds of sapient species. The upshot of the report is whether or not the studied sentient species, us, is to be assisted; that is, saved from extinction."

"Extinction?" Cody was stunned.

"According to Bob Plato, and it makes sense to me, almost all intelligent species end up fatally disrupting the ecosystem that spawned them. It happened to the Lygrid, it's happening to us. Without assistance, most intelligent species expire, bringing their planet down around them."

She lowered her voice, though no one was paying them any attention.

"That's why the League allows the Lygrid to take so much of our art and stuff. It's all that will survive of us, that and our one sentence in the Book of Beings."

"One sentence? We're reduced to that?"

"Oh, some of our stuff will survive, in Lygris and elsewhere, for millennia. But beyond extinction, what will endure -- everywhere, always, and only -- is that one telling entry in the Book of Beings."

By now he knew where this was going, but listened as Merica finished.

"That's what the 'bad sentence' is. As proxy for the League, the Lygrid have carefully chosen one sentence, one of our own sentences about ourselves, to sum us up; our essence. Our merit. And this sentence is the extent of its report, the basis on which we will or will not receive this... promotion."

Cody put down his fork. "I guess our sentence sucks. What is it?"

Merica pulled a SCAN (Site-Copied Auto-Note) from her pocket. "Bob Plato asked me not to share this information, not that it's going to make any difference. Maybe they would be less welcome as tourists, is all."

She handed the SCAN over. "There's a list of several species' sentences. Ours is the first."

Cody took a quick look and noticed some sentences were bracketed. Merica anticipated his question. "Those sentences with brackets denote sentient species for whom this one sentence is all that is recorded of them. They were not assisted. The assumption is they're either extinct or dying out."

Cody read:

[I value the grace of my desires above the urgency of your needs.]

"This is our one sentence?" He counted: "Thirteen unlucky words?!" Cody sighed. "It's pitiful. It makes us sound incredibly selfish."

Merica just snorted.

"Yeah, well ... who wrote it anyway?", Cody asked.

"It's from seven hundred years ago, some obscure court poet."

"I guess it's pretty much a death sentence." He shook his head. "What was the glorious life sentence of the ever-noble Lygrid?"

"The next one on the list."

Cody read it out loud, sarcastically at first, then finishing almost reverentially:

"'I recognize a vital unity linking me with all Lygrid, and Lygrid with all life, acknowledging that where none prevails over another, each may prosper and all may continue.'"

He was quiet for a moment, looking at Merica.

"Actually that's pretty good."

She merely nodded.

Silently, Cody continued reading from the list:

[The application of high principle to low behavior is a common deception.]

Cody thought that sentence also sounded like the human race. He briefly considered what unfortunate species had once uttered those words. Perfunctorily, he read on:

Until we fashion a society that makes everyone feel wanted, we will be saddled with a society that no one who feels, wants. He wondered if such a society ever existed, at higher than a tribal level.

[Seeking majesty or mystery in existence only ensures misery and mistake.] Or a CCEN of 62, going on 100. He rapidly skimmed the remaining sentences:

[That society is doomed which compensates above all others its entertainers.]

We must conform to that ideal of conformity held by the most nonconformist among us.

[How scary are our lives, that we find comfort in postulating a God who is easily offended and exacts terrible punishment?]

My equal is my enemy, for until one serves the other, we must vie for that defining knowledge.

The kind know more of cruelty, than the cruel, of kindness.

[That creature which promotes itself above creation, demotes others for destruction.]

[There is no winning, no gain -- only end; and that, it finally seems, is enough.]

Cody finished and handed the SCAN back to Merica. "I have a sentence of my own to add: 'The Book of Beings sucks.'"

Merica just nodded.

"Or how about, 'Here I sit brokenhearted, came to sh--'" Cody trailed off. Merica wasn't listening.

They were silent for a few minutes.

Cody pushed the remains of his meal away from him. "Some of those sentences, it seems somewhat arbitrary ... I mean the brackets, the withholding of aid. They, we, could have been good...."

Merica smiled ruefully. "Bob Plato, who incidently had no part in judging us, says what the League looks for, generically, is something like: 'We are better than we have done.' I guess we aren't."

"Then there is nothing for us," Cody said, dolefully, "nothing for all the struggle, all the accomplishments; nothing but this inadequate epitaph. It's an affront."

"It isn't meant that way," Merica consoled him. "Don't blame them."

Cody nodded. "So how long do we have?"

"As long as it takes to drown in our poisons. A few generations, yet, Bob Plato thinks. We're pretty sturdy and ingenious."

"Well, you'll escape; maybe...."

"No, I know what you're thinking. They'll be no starting the human species over somewhere else. Only females are allowed to emigrate and there's no possibility of interbreeding."

"So, this is it. You're leaving tomorrow and humanity is doomed."

She nodded. "Yes, I'm leaving. But the other, there's no guarantee. The sentence is only a prediction and an abandonment. We still have the same chance we had before the Lygrid ever arrived."

"Well, it's no big surprise, I suppose. Still...."

"Yeah, I know."

They hugged and promised to write and hugged again and she was gone.
* * *

Cody was surprised how despondent he was over the 'sentence' and all that. After all, it didn't affect his life. He wasn't going to witness extinction in his lifetime, nor would he have participated in resurrection. So why did he care so?

He was sitting alone in a window room, watching purulent clouds with reflective skins ooze along sun-inflammed fractures in the discarded sky. Just the place for rumination.

Cody got up and wandered listlessly into the nearest video cubicle. With his mind elsewhere, it was five minutes before he realized he was watching one of those decades-old documentaries about how the world was doomed unless we ... blah blah blah.

As he left, he heard laughter from the massive videotorium down the hall. He entered and immediately recognized the shrill onscreen voice.

What's wrong with me? he wondered. He had already missed half of the best show of the week, the only one still in production, not a rerun.

The series followed the private life of Mad Donna, a fictional music video dominatrix of the Troubled Twenties; and her sad-sack husband, Slapped, a second-rate ice hockey player. They were fabulously wealthy, living in a dwelling all their own. A standing joke had their friends puzzled over Slapped's constantly bruised face; he so seldom got actual ice time.

It was titled after Mad Donna's popular release: "SEXY in SEXA [Skins of EXtinct Animals]."

Cody took one of few seats remaining in the large room. It was easy to pick up the action.

Slapped was whining to Mad Donna, "You never want to have sex anymore."

She strutted over to her vanity, kicking off her stiletto heels. "How would you know?" she sneered to canned laughter.

Cody joined in the scattered chuckling around him.

"You think you're so much better than everyone else," Slapped countered.

"Except for fools, everyone starts out thinking that, given the competition." She looked him in the face. "But some of us learn otherwise."

When Slapped failed to respond to that, she continued.

"Like when I'm pumping the droolies, and I call out 'I'm not wearing any underwear.' While they're hooting and hollering, I'm thinking to myself, 'But if I were, mine would be clean.'"

"Only the best for you, eh? Panties trimmed in gold for your royal ass."

She turned away, to the mirror. "Better than stained in yellow, my dear."

Cody at first joined the wave of laughter, then abruptly stopped. Stopped and looked around him. Looked around him and left.

Left with nowhere to go.

Back to the Planet's surface.