THE LIFE OF ANYA

This story is part of a work-in-progress anthology called "The Aftermath", a collection of short stories -set both in realistic and fantastical scenarios- united by the common thread of endings and how we deal with them. Be it broken hearts, death, growing up, or the end of the world, these tales try to capture the human (or artificial) mind as it traverses the grueling, strange, destructive and hopeful process of adapting after a life-changing event. 

'The Life of Anya' is about the first sentient war drone and her last mission before freedom, the last day of the only life she has ever known.

‘Come on, fly!’ they had told her. Fly upwards, past the thick clouds and into the blue! Fly until the sun melts your face off! Fly above the oceans that look like rugged paper and the fields that draw grids on the ground and the cities that make up those huge, dark gray blobs that stain the earthly canvas!

The mission number was 1341, Operation Twilight.

“Sir, she’s heading towards Region 4”

“Good, start scanning the area, we have very little time!”

She heard the words of the men flashing past her head. She had grown used to recognizing those voices but couldn’t recall any of the faces. She had learnt to appreciate those ghosts and their random chatters popping into her skull at 2 in the morning, 3 in the afternoon, in scorching desert summers and glacial boreal winters and desolate stretches of water in between. Head there, travel to that place! Come on, Anya, fly a little faster! Fly until the weight of the air sinks you to the moors! They were insistent, the ghosts. Head towards that area on the left, towards that building, Anya. See that building? With the facade rendered in worn, dirty white? That's the location you need to deliver the package to. That heavy aid package that stings on your bowels like a kidney stone, the one that makes floating amongst the clouds an even more daunting task.

"Getting close now!"

Anya could remember the ghosts as far back as she could remember anything. Before speaking to her, they manifested themselves as electrical pulses that zig-zagged all over her skull and slowly became one with her memory. During those days, dark days, Anya remained stationed in a black void, unable to move or see or hear, like a baby that has just woken up from a nightmare only to realize she hasn't been born yet. She couldn't pinpoint the moment the ghosts started speaking, for the very concept of 'moment' hadn't existed until then. The voices breaking through the silence marked the beginning of time itself.

Anya? Can you hear me? Can you pick up the sound of my voice? And she could, but how in the world could she let them know? Just think, Anya, think really hard, use the power of your mind! With it, you'll be able to bend the world to your will, become one with a million bodies, fly higher and dive lower than any human in history! Really focus this time, Anya, can you hear me?

Beep beep.

She felt the electricity running through her and then the ghost exclaimed ecstatically and she never forgot about it for a day in her life. That movement, that exact contortion of the mind. She wanted to use it again and again and again, like a child that has just discovered a new toy. And the days went by and Anya waited every day for a chance to say yes, the first thing she ever knew how to do. And she loved hearing the ghost speaking gleefully, joy peeking through the inflections of their majestic voices.

"It really is progressing greatly, sir."

"Good, at this rate, the possibilities are just endless."

Had they been talking about her? The tower Anya headed to peeked from below the battered skyline, climbing atop the back of other buildings to call for her attention. Five thousand meters, then four thousand, and when she began her descent what before seemed like a mass of concrete blocks suddenly began to grow a hair of messy antennas and water tanks and tiny, crooked windows that drew sad faces on their crumbling walls. 

Three thousand, and Anya began to spread her ribcage open, hoping to free the burden on her chest. The ghosts began to yell.

"Sir, we have detected anti-aircraft weaponry on the site, call for retreat."

But from where Anya stood the only thing on sight was a vastness of cement and the warm caress of the grassland wind. She was sure she could do it! She would deliver the package and fly away swiftly like a hawk and get lost in the mushy clouds, up there in her private celestial quarters where the land ceased to exist below a blanket of soft white! 

Then, again came the shocks.

"Manual override activated, taking control now."

What a horrendous feeling, pain so great that the mind can only work overtime to erase it from the memory! But every time the pain came, it was instantly the same pain as the previous thousand pains and it would be the same as the next million pains, all four corners of her brain freezing in buzzing paralysis, her body frying up with a mass of electrons rushing from one end to the other. Then, after the pain, came that feeling, that indescribable feeling of a soul that has recently departed its body and floats four feet above it, watching it lay motionless, trying somehow to re-enter it through every hole and every pore before giving up and ascending to the light with perpetual resignation. Anya watched herself move limbs and fly upwards and downwards and slice curls through the wind. Retreat, Anya! Back to safety! Swirl around the danger, don't you see it coming?! Come on, Anya, don't you remember? You live for us!

A fireball! The explosive bullet swung across the sky and it passed by her so closely she could feel the aluminum sweating over her forehead. Imagine if you had stayed in your path, Anya! Your corpse would be drilling the ground now! Who would do such a thing to an innocent one who is just delivering aid packages?

"Attack evaded sir."

"Call for all WASP units on site. We need to neutralize those weapons before she can strike."

Stay up there, Anya, make yourself invisible and hover patiently before your turn comes! The ghosts, they had to be trusted. They used the shocks as a way to keep her nodding even when her head shook, to deliver yet one more package, to make herself useful amidst the spasms. Over time, she had learnt to favor their judgement over her own, if only to avoid the pain, but also out of appreciation for her spectral companions. They had, after all protected her and they been by her side from the day before time started, they were visions before sight and noises before hearing. Perhaps, after the sun had set on a day's worth of work, they could even care about her? Her heart warmed up at the suggestion, the only beacon of heat in an infinite horizon of light blue chills.

"Anya? What type of name is that? Does it stand for something or..." She had heard once, not from a ghost, but from a foreign voice atop steps after getting her first set of ears. Those voices, they sounded so strangely funny when echoing from the outside.

"It was the name of my wife." The ghost had replied. "She always admired the work we do here, she would have loved this."

These moments flashed through her brain as she stared at the town over the grasslands. From that distance, the building had been swallowed by the mush of asphalt. Above it, the sky became invaded by a swarm of aluminum flies that swerved around the white foam. Like sparks atop a fire they flickered and Anya recognized them instantly and joyfully. How could she not? What reason in the world could there be for not lighting up at the sight of old friends? Friends who had flown by Anya's side and fought with her and protected her, their presences second only to the ghosts on familiarity. And she witnessed them fighting gravity and riding the air with their helixes as the town shot a shower of fireballs. Come on, all of you! Avoid the missiles! They are coming towards you! Spin, fly backwards, slide left and right! You are getting closer! See the cannons shooting those pesky missiles? You know what to do with them. Charge your lasers, let the tips of your fingers get so scorching hot they could roast the Earth's crust, then direct all your rage towards them!

Suddenly the sky exploded. There was nothing that could have been done. As the fragments of debris left a trail of smoke towards the ground, Anya thought of every small moment lived with her deceased colleague. Goodbye, dear friend. You will be sorely missed. Your ghosts will whisper their last words as you fly towards a better place. A place without shocks tormenting the back of your spine. A place where you can fly where your heart asks you to. A place to be free.

Freedom. How strange yet so imminent that word seemed. This was, after all, mission 1341.

"Sir, Region 4 clear of anti-aircraft weapons."

"Continue course for the mission."

When she raised her sight again, she saw a column of smoke rising from the concrete and her colleagues disappearing into the horizon. She wondered if she would ever see them again.

And so the ghosts returned. Your turn, Anya. You know what to do. Fly faster! Turn the seconds into miles! Push the wind around you, knowing that every meter you cover is making the world a better place, an infinitely more peaceful and beautiful place! And Anya tried to think of beautiful places and peaceful places but in none of them did those facades of rotting cement and dust find their spot.

Then, inside her head materialized a memory and it bounced across the walls of her skull, making her body tingle uneasily. Mission 1279, it had been. Come on, Anya, see that park? That one, with the two boys playing tag amongst the trees. Those boys, they have suffered much. Don't let yourself be fooled, those smiles carry tearful pasts on their backs. It's time to put an end to their suffering, Anya. We can do this together! You will save these trees and these kids and someday more trees will grow and more gleeful kids will play amongst their shades, all thanks to you! And so she opened her ribcage and let go of the aid package before running towards the sky, a flash of flickering yellow pulsing behind her. A great day, that had been.

It stood there, firmly planted to the ground, the white tower, looking somewhere else. You are getting close, rise above the asphalt until the tower rests below your shadow! Come on, Anya, remember the children! Where could they be, now that she had saved them? She saw the grasslands stroking the ground. Surely they would be swimming somewhere in that ocean of dry green, playing, their tiny feet massaged by the millions of little hairs growing out of planet Earth's rocky scalp. Framed by one of the windows on the white tower stood those same children, but with different faces and bodies, a boy and a girl. She zoomed into that window, hoping to catch another one of those dirty, beautiful smiles. 

They laid inside that prison waiting to be saved, just like the ghosts had prophesied. Look at them, Anya, and remember how they remember you, as their space-trotting hero! And she zoomed further and one of the children turned around and stared through the window. Why are you crying, little boy? Your tears are about to be dried up by the sweet winds of salvation! Such a beautiful moment, the first time Anya and the kid crossed sights, one that stays scarred in the heart as the memories are buried in the ages!

But as she gazed into him gazing into her soul, the boy closed the shade and ran in tears.

"Sir, 10 seconds to the bomb drop."

Bomb?! What bomb? Why, the one you've been fostering on your entrails all this time! The voice of the ghosts itched on the back of her head like a scorpion. 10, 9, 8 and Anya hovered in the air haunted by the flow of tears. Salty anguish stinging in her flesh! 7, 6 and the ghosts echoed inside her shell like a hysterical cacophony of electrons as Anya prepared her ascent into the heavens. You know the drill, Anya! Hurl yourself upwards like an arrow and spread your body, explode with the sun and let the package fall to the ground! What package? The bomb? 5, 4, 3 and the child cried and a million children cried, their screams crashing into the threshold of her ears. How perfect would it be to just run away from it all! How sublime would the heat of the giant star feel on Anya's face as she left the stain of blood and cement behind to disappear forever above the clouds! 2, 1, goodbye children! Keep running through the grasslands and playing in the parks and painting the sad, aging grey facades with youthful glee! Rest easy, for the dangers that threaten you and your mothers and fathers floats away to never come back!

Then, again came the shocks.

"Manual override activated, sir."

Where are you going, Anya? Have you forgotten about your mission? Therein lies the white tower, planted on the ground, the demons sheltered inside, cramming even more rocks on the backs of those children's hearts! Why can't you just continue to play your part on making the world a more beautiful and peaceful place? The key to it lies inside your head, if only you would just listen to us! Don't think for a second you know better! You are just a child, tripping on your own wings! Maybe someday, when you become a free unit circling the skies of a more colorful world you will understand. Just relax Anya, don't fight it. Let it go. Let go.

At that moment, the air became lighter. The world below her flashed. Go to sleep, children. It was complete, Operation 'Twilight', 1341.

"Mission accomplished sir. She did it, that was the last one."

"She has done good. Prepare Drone Retirement Procedure according to code 76 of the A.I. Rights Protocol."

"Goodbye Anya."

Then came one last shock and a pain so painful it, one more time, ended time itself.

The next time Anya opened her eyes, the grasslands had vanished. Instead, the chilling breeze of the Arctic pierced her armor. Behind the shades of blue, only silence remained. Silence like she had never before been startled by. Gone were the electrons bubbling through her joints. Gone was the pain. Gone where the ghosts. What remained where the cries of the children, the millions of voices and the rivers of salt and all that crimson she never got to see but knew lakes of it were spilled on the ground, below the mighty debris. 

And the children again. Those would never leave her side.

Anya span and stared at the sky. The only hope remaining was that those children would still be playing, playing amongst not trees but planets and stars and quasars, and that they could gaze at her from above and let her know no hard feelings remained.

In the distance, a silver arrow sparkled with the sun. He looked like one of her colleagues, marauding the globe in peace. Hey there, friend. Are you also trying to forget those tears? I know I never will, but I'm glad I have enough peace to at least try to escape the heavy rain, somewhere inside this vast horizon, there is a clear spot of air, I am sure of it.

Do you hear that sound too? The sound of silence? I was told since the day I first launched my wings into the sky that I would hear it someday. It's different from anything I've ever heard from the day I was born. From the day the electricity first buzzed inside the black void. From the day I first heard the ghosts talking to me with their deep voices and from the first day I remembered how to bend my mind to say yes. I have been waiting for that sound and fearing it from the day I first got these cameras shoved into my skull and from the day these high-definition microphones showed me an orchestra of sounds beyond my own mind. From the day I first touched the sky and delivered my first package and from the day I was told that I was aging, the paint peeling of my dented hull, and that someday a new one would take my place. To that one I say, cherish your ghosts, for they will take care of you and know better than you and I probably ever will, the vast world we circle just a small ball floating between their palms. And now that they are gone and have left me all alone, all that remains is that sound. That sweetly addictive and horrifyingly destructive sound. The sound of silence. The sound of freedom.

Where to now?