They called Gulam “the Seer” because he could see for miles.
As one of the Reformed – a politer way of saying deformed – he had a blessing and several curses. He had a hunchback, a neck the length of a baby giraffe’s, and two large flaps of hard skin where eye sockets would normally be. The skin flaps hung like the halves of a mussel shell. Resting on them were two dull eyes that were similar in shape to the eyes of a peacock’s tail. Gulam had no idea what a giraffe was, nor a mussel, nor a peacock. He learnt the words that the Aristos women and children relied on to describe him, words they had absorbed from old books. They seemed to be under the impression that Gulam could see and not hear. But what can one do to pass time watching, other than listen?
***
He had gathered that these descriptors were of animals. He hoped that eventually, he would see them on the horizon from his vantage point. It felt good to stand ever taller on the platform of a mechanical skiff, especially that which leads the fleet of others like it. He feared he wouldn’t know the animals if he saw them. Where would they be if the whole world resembled a quarry?
Gulam told himself off. What he should be looking for was the enemy. That was the deal.
When Johannes had found him, Gulam was shirtless. His comparatively short arms struggled to brush the rock salt from his neck. No shirt could fit him, though many Reformed had gotten away with wearing them. The Aristocrat had provided him with raiment: a modified belted blanket once made with a horse in mind. For this, and the promise of others like it, Gulam would keep watch.
The Reformed could not remember being children or adults. Just that they were different to the Aristos, who were the best in that they were normal. Normal bodies at the very least, though Gulam privately questioned Johannes’ mind. And with whispers, so did others. He couldn’t yet figure out if Johannes was an absolute ruler or a sub-leader. Everyone around him did what he said, as the skiffs searched the desolation for the place called Forrington.
***
Their way of life was highly systematised in that they all dressed similarly. They wore old clothes. Not from the time before the world became a quarry, but from times long past. Most women wore pale pink dresses, and the men wore white stockings and buckled shoes below their all-black garments. Together they spoke ornately. Why would the people who commanded such high technology be this way?
Because Johannes had ordered it.
Another thing Johannes had ordered was the creation of a “Boyfriend” for his eldest daughter. Among these Normals, the word no longer meant what it used to. Boyfriends were more like the bodyguards you could hire at the 500 Mile Inns, except that they were still human (at least in appearance), you didn’t pay nor pray to them, and they were completely loyal. All subordinates with older daughters were issued Boyfriends for their close protection, but not Johannes. Johannes had ordered the creation of a female boyfriend to guard the apple of his eye. There was much speculation on why this was so.
The Aristos were never quite clear on who their enemies were. They were talked around like ghosts or aliens. Killer robots were a common theme, or was it Robotic-like killers? Such opposition had not been encountered by the Reformed…
Gulam’s kin, where you could find them, largely stuck together. They hoped, often vainly, to eke out some form of tolerable existence. Gulam knew he had a friend somewhere, a man with ears the size of cymbals who could hear as great as the Seer could see. He wished he could find him and introduce him to Johannes. Maybe the Listener would abandon his conviction that Aristos tinkering was somehow responsible for the Reformed’s condition, and perhaps even the state of the world.
***
One watch, the Johannes family lounged on the deck beck below the platform. His wife decided to challenge him. She pointed to the Female Boyfriend – brown plaits in a black, much higher-tech body suit – and asked him Why. Why did he make it so?
Gulam couldn’t help but turn around and see the look on Johannes’ face. Up close, his peacock eyes could only faintly make out an awkward smile. The man was combing his mind for a wrong answer. That was when the Mercury Rounds struck the Skiff.
An exchange of rapid gunfire led to bonfires. Arms and alarms went off. Flak cannons, small rockets, larger missiles, assorted artillery, and guided bombs. The overwhelming firepower was impotent after this fact: the Aristos had lost the initiative along with their lead vessel. The followers encircled the wreckage from above, protecting it like a flock of celestial angels, longing for revenge not quite attainable.
The attack was probably automated. Disposable. Placed and forgotten about, with no real blood to be risked. It was how these enemies operated.
Gulam was on the ground and couldn’t get up. His new raiment was aged in an instant with the stains of the dust. Things calmed down. The Aristos death toll was appraised alongside the salvage options. Only then was Gulam winched back up. Only then could he get a good view of the carnage.
Johannes’ wife and eldest daughter were dead. Bodies intact, it was the shockwaves that got them. The husband and father looked at them with sadness in his eyes and the confident smile of a leader on his face. The young ones that were left sobbed, and the Female Boyfriend had the countenance of a born failure. It could only be the first line of defence in a close protection situation. Long-range detection had been the responsibility of Gulam.
“Shall we kill the Seer?” Suggested a subordinate.
“No,” the Aristocrat said. “It is quite alright. He was distracted by my wife’s outburst. We all were. And we’ve paid the price. We must press on to Forrington.”
The white sky turned black, and the formation slowed to a crawl. They stripped Gulam of his shirt and pushed him into the cargo stables, housing him alongside the beasts of burden. In the darkness, he listened. Whispers about a stock they would lock him in, one with a limited angle of turning. They would keep his eyes peeled by force, and saline would blink for him. This would be his life until Forrington, and he wept for whatever penalties came after that.
Enoch writes 