A Watcher Watches

A Watcher Watches

by Joshua Allen

(Originally published in The Fifth Di..., May 2009)

And so we come to Earth, last stop on our tour of historic places. If you look out the j-ward viewports you will see an authentic reproduction of what Earth would have looked like in its prime. You'll see sparkling blue oceans and several distinct masses of land interspersed throughout. As we'll be approaching from the dark side--what the ancient inhabitants of Earth called "Night"--you'll also see a representative sample of light grouped around what were once metropolitan areas composed of several million billion Earthbound organisms, including the illusive, long-extinct "human," a strange being that claimed sentience but was unable to control even its basic bodily functions such as heartbeat and digestion. Though the humans were granted nominal status in the League in the ancient year DXI 847, they quickly lost status by inventing nuclear weapons, which they later used to destroy themselves in war many humans dubbed "Armageddon," after a legend in some ancient storybook. Prechipto rotated her second orbital head-module stageclockwise until it was upside down. Those fools, they were

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flying in at the wrong angle, nearly 180 degrees clockwise of true r-ward. All the continents, the pointy ones, anyway, were pointing up instead of down. Any school child could tell you the fallacy of up-down in three-dimensional orientation, but Prechipto also knew that to experience Earth as the Earthlings saw it, you had to look at it with the pointy landmasses pointing down. Down. Prechipto shook her head as she rotated it back to baseline. They would pay with this violation of authenticity with a harsh note. An unseen tentacle probed her ambiguous area. The He was hungry. She decided to disengage sexual arousal after a moment's thought. He would have to find some other hims and hers to share commune with. Prechipto was much too angry. She could feel the ache of His rejection as she left the crowded room. He tried to make her feel guilty but she twisted Him the apple. How dare He. * * * Tyson watched the tape a second time, scarcely believing his eyes. He'd had a feeling, a suspicion that had eaten into his mind like a still, quite voice--for weeks now--but until the tape had appeared in his bedroom, on his bed, and tied with a red ribbon bowed beautifully as though by Martha Stewart, he had dismissed these thoughts as utter irrationality, at best, or extreme sexual guilt, at worst. Somehow, he had suspected that

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someone was watching him when he had sex with his wife, Bridge, and now he had irrevocable proof. A tape with them enjoying each other and supplying each other with pleasure in supposed isolation while someone watched and recorded. And though nothing specifically had compelled him to do so, certainly no rational reason and no sense that there were clues in the images embedded in magnetized plastic strip as to the identity of his watcher, he kept watching the tape again and again. And again The changing pressure and sucking/rattling sound of the door opening made Tyson jump and clench up all over, quite involuntarily. He shut the VCR off, looked frantically for a place to stash the videotape, but realized he had no time. He leaned back and folded his left leg over right, to try to hide his erection. Bridge set her keys on the TV, she was digging through her purse looking for something, probably something asinine, like lip balm. She glanced briefly at the blank TV. She had no idea what he'd just been watching. All he had to do was hit "Play" and her world would be destroyed. "We need to run to the store." When Tyson had no response to offer, Bridge threw up her hands. "We need milk Ty." Ty. Her favorite way of communicating with him was to treat him like a child.

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Except in the bedroom. In the bedroom, with the lights dim and the candles glowing, she wanted--needed--every square centimeter of his maleness to come to the fore. The tape proved this. The tape was power, bestowed upon him from a nameless source. There was no question of whether or not to let her see it. There was only a doubt, a taut little pull on the back of his head, just up behind the ear, that made him wonder if she would ever conveniently receive a similar tape. She would know immediately, of course, that he knew. His power would be sapped. "Milk?" She rolled her eyes. "Come on. Up and at 'em, Buster. Let's go." She pulled his hand. He let her pull him up, then he grabbed her and held her. She struggled, but he held. He kissed her neck. She softened. Without words he pitched her onto the couch face first. She caught herself and pressed back against him with the soft curve of her buttocks. Are you watching this? Even now, are you watching? * * * Prechipto waved her hand module over the entrance to her cubicle and then folded it back into her upper trunk, where it resumed function as her helium lung. Five lungs for each noble

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gas that existed on Home. She quickly made the sign of the Perfect Pentacle over her ambiguous area. A knock on the door. If it was the Him... She decided to ignore and instead plugged her anode into the central banks and accessed entertainment sequences from Earth's history. The knock persisted, grew louder. With a wave of her xenon lung-arm the door opened. She rolled her eyes and disengaged from the entertainment sequence she'd been watching--an easily popped bubble of excitement based on codes embedded in the work of an ancient artist--and swiveled to face her visitor, a young him she didn't recognize. The him took a deep breath into all five lungs and then extended all five arm modules on his upper tentacles, a sign of extreme disapproval. He said, in a tone normally reserved for children, "With what purpose have you denied the advances of Him 17? Was He not instrumental in bringing you aboard this final cruise past the Earth exhibit? You realize that once Deconstruction begins, the Earth exhibit will be gone?" Prechipto didn't much appreciate the lecture from a strange him, certainly not one younger than herself. She dismissed him with a wave of her xenon arm. "They'll rebuild it again, I'm sure. I don't believe it originated in the Milky Way anyway. This is probably the third or even fourth incarnation of the Silly Planet."

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The him's face spun clockwise once. "Silly planet? Some say the humans were our ancestors." "Immaterial," she replied. "You are trying to pull me into an alternative conversation. Did you not agree to come on this trip?" "I did." Prechipto admitted the obvious with a nice thick edge of sarcasm. But despite herself, she found this him's boldness charming. "Him 17 would never force you, He's not that way...but you are ripe, aren't you?" "Is that what you are? An agent of Him 17? Or just a wellmeaning citizen." "My name is Gripplido. I," the him hesitated, straightening his five legs. "I am in love with Prechipto." Prechipto dismissed him five times. "You have taken hormonal fancy, and I am to acquiesce to Hering? Why not simply inject you with the Lovecure?" Gripplido put his two arms closest to her up in horizontal bars of supplication. The little him leaned forward, his face spinning nervously clockwise and counterclockwise. "I saw your lecture on the human art of Shakespeare in the Frezznippida University last year. It was inspiring. I have since learned Humanese." Gripplido beamed.

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Prechipto laughed, despite herself. "And what words of humanese did you learn?" Gripplido, not yet seeing her mirth, eagerly engaged all five arms. "I know lots of them. Like 'el.' This word was used more frequently than any other. My tutor has suggested that 'El' was a primitive god whom many humans worshiped." Prechipto covered her eyes. "In one sense this is true. There was a god named 'El' who had many other names and was revered. But in this case, I believe your teacher was not teaching you anything but the word 'the.'" Gripplido's arms drew back inside his trunk. "I see." "There is no such language as 'humanese.' The humans were not like us, they spoke many languages, hundreds even. You are learning, it anything, Espanish." "Espanish?" She nodded. Prechipto had begun stroking the spines on his nearest lung-arm, despite herself, to comfort him. But more: something about this young one was arousing. Perhaps it was simply his eagerness to please. Prechipto could think of many wonderful ways that impulse could be used. She stood. "Let us go together and speak to Him 17. We will together converse and sort this matter."

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Gripplido nodded in an affectation of an adult manner, though she could tell that the him had hoped his profession of love would lead to something heartier than heavy conversation. As Gripplido exited her domicile heads first, she brushed his feet, ever so lightly. The him had no chance to look back, but as Prechipto disengaged the power from her room, she smiled. * * * "Tyson." Tyson looked up from the blank TV screen. He'd just been watching another tape. Them, on the couch. In it, Bridge looked so beautiful and sexy. Tyson didn't dare sit up to greet his wife as she entered the room and said, "I'm pregnant." Tyson wiped his forehead. It came away hot and damp. "I thought--" but couldn't finish the sentence. They'd been told to forget about having kids. It's a non-option, his doctor had so emphatically put it. "I know it sounds impossible." She sat down next to him. She was wearing a business suit with knee-length skirt and never before had she looked so much like exactly what she was: a very hot high school counselor. She took his left hand in both of hers. She must have taken his arousal as worry. He wished he had a mirror. He hated when other people read his face. "But it has happened." Now. He had to tell her now. "I'm just so happy."

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He embraced her, pulling her close to his chest, but avoiding letting his pelvis touch her so she wouldn't know how incredibly aroused he was, still, from the tape. She said, "Why don't you go make some coffee?" He broke the hug. The power, he realized, was gone, and his erection along with it. He got up and ground the beans for coffee. Somehow her pregnancy had shifted things again and he was back where he started. There was only one option. He would tell her about the tapes. She would be frightened. Someone was watching them, after all. He would solve the problem. He set the kettle down and planned out his words until it started to whistle. Coffee and hot water went into the French press and the rich, dark coffee came out a few minutes later. He carried the two mugs into the living room with careful balance. "There's more." Bridge took her coffee, but didn't drink. "There's a lot more, Tyson. You see, there were these videos." "Videos?" "Of us. Making love. They were emailed to my office. I don't know by whom." Tyson was speechless. He opened his mouth, but someone had robbed his words, his breath, everything. He felt a sinking from his skull and was certain he would pass out. After a minute, Bridge touched his back and suddenly his life returned. "How could you keep something like this from me?"

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"I was afraid you might react that way." Bridge leaned back, propping her head on her hand, and folded her left leg over her right. She motioned toward the television set. "So what were you watching before I came in?" * * * The three of them, together, began to couple. Actually, Him 17 just watched while the him and her became Her. His role came before and after. He stimulated him and her; they constructed themselves into something new. He made the product of their copulation viable. He was vital and inert at the same time. He was the Watcher. He could be aroused, as His species measured it (through the scent map that formed in their sensory centers, which were equally distributed throughout their bodies), but it was nothing any objective observer would every measure as such. He was the Watcher. He liked to Watch. The Watcher directed His attention for just a moment to Human Home in the view screen. He remembered the real one. He remembered how he had watched then, before the evolution. He remembered that he helped people by watching them. Just by watching, reproduction had been facilitated. Then all those bombs and all those years. And yet the Watching remained. He returned his attention to the him and her.

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The End