Blind 15/6/2012- 23/6/2012 Songfic Contest

No more dreaming of the dead as if death itself was undone
No more calling like a crone for a boy, for a body in the garden
No more dreaming like a girl so in love, so in love
No more dreaming like a girl so in love, so in love
No more dreaming like a girl so in love with the wrong one

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?You said that they couldn't feel. They they were just machines.?

My voice rang loud in my ears, echoing down the bare corridor of the USS Cole, the vibrations seeming palpable in the dry, un-recycled air. The figure at the end of the passage turned, his face a blank, emotionless mask, his white coat covered in splashes of fast coagulating blood.

In the deep pools of his baleful green eyes, I could see that he'd sold his soul. ?You lied to me, Patrick. I saw Kappa Seven die like an animal, with fear in his eyes.? My mouth was dry under his piercing gaze, my skin crawling with revulsion, as if every fiber of my being could sense what he'd done.

We stood with silence between us, the old ship creaking and groaning around us as her engines forced her on through the blackness, every second carrying us away from the station, and the butcher shop Patrick had opened there.

His voice, when he finally spoke, was filled with self-righteous conviction, hinting at a mind so screwed up and brutalized that it would believe anything. ?Because they are a disease. We have acted as Prometheus, and brought down fire from the gods. I must put out the fire before it spreads.?

?Bullshit.? I would have shouted, but his eyes kept me in check. ?I loved you, Patrick. I came out to the ass end of the universe for you, to work on your crack-pot experiment at playing God. And guess what?? Patrick had been half-turned, ready to spring away, but now he was facing me, a pool of someone else's blood at his feet, a repeater grasped in his pale, slender fingers, clumps of hair and brain-matter clinging to the stubby barrel.

?You succeeded, Patrick. They started to think. Reason!? Three days earlier, this had been cause for celebration. For wild abandon. The champagne, which had traveled the millions of miles from Earth, had been opened. And that was the night I took Patrick into my bed. Tasted him. I shuddered again, physically backing away from the memory.

?You're just as blind as the others. They couldn't see. They would have overtaken us. Synthetics would have outstripped us. Killed us all, in the end.? Patrick began to move as he spoke, advancing down the corridor towards me, the pistol still hanging at his side. I tried to retreat, but felt the cold steel of the airlock door at my back. I fumbled the unfamiliar weight of my own repeater from my pocket, holding it out before me like a cross before a demon.

?Get back.? I shouted, the faint humming of the electro-magnetic weapon giving me a strength that my feeble frame lacked. ?Don't think I won't shoot you.?

With an almost tired shrug of his shoulder, Patrick raised the pistol and fired, the white muzzle flash filling the dark corridor. I fired fractionally later, hitting him in the shoulder, filling the still air with a mist of blood. Before I could congratulate myself, his own shot flensed the flesh from my knee, destroying it completely. The force pitched me back against the door, to slide down it like a rag doll, a haze of pain overwhelming my mind.

?Bitch.? Patrick wheezed, staggering forward. He was in worse shape than me, but the fire in his eyes was undimmed. The pistol in his hand cracked again, blowing open my stomach, severing the connection between by legs and torso. I never saw him again. He left me there, sprawled and bleeding at the bottom of the door.

Weird as it was, the only thought that filled my mind was that I was glad that I'd never married him. Patrick had been my world, the object of my devotion for the whole journey out to Charon station. I'd doted on him, and fawned over him like a confused teenager. The last few days had really opened my eyes.

The pain had faded. My vision began to darken, as my life's blood pooled around me. At the end, all I could remember was the scream of Kappa Seven, as he clutched at me, his synthetic blood pouring from the gaping wound in his skull. Just before I blacked out, I heard a single shot. At least that bastard was joining me.

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