Like herself, the woman wore no clothing.Like herself, the woman wore no clothing. The woman smiled and said, "You probably don't want to shoot me, Oenone." With a slow snarl Oenone said, "Who are you?" "You don't remember me, do you?" Oenone thought for a moment. "I have never met you before." "Yes, you have. Think back, try and remember the voice, Oenone. We spent a few weeks together, a long time ago. If I remember correctly, you've moved up the timeline pretty slowly, for a Terran, and you're about seven thousand years old now. For me, it was about three billion years." Puzzled, Oenone asked, "That means you could be just about anybody." Deliberately punching each syllable, Oenone asked "Who are you?" "We met in Ken's car, remember? Close your eyes and recall my voice, O. Back them I was a metallic cylinder 65 cents in diameter and 40 cents high." Oenone blinked, the memory flooding her suddenly. "You... you're Fawn Destiniere'?" "You do remember!" Oenone sagged. "It's hard to forget the lady who saved my life, but I am not convinced. You could still be anybody, anybody who gave Ken's Journals even a passing glance. But it doesn't matter anymore, there are no secrets worth keeping and I don't care who you are. You're probably the last voice I shall ever hear. I'm not sure I haven't gone insane." "When reality is whatever we make it--" The girl paused, "within limits-- insanity becomes a pretty slippery thing to define. But you're not insane. And whether you believe me or not, I would like you to call me 'Fawn'. It would make me comfortable, and would give you something to call me other than 'Hey you.'" "Very well," Oenone agreed. "'Fawn,' then." Fawn smiled. "You're right, though," she said as she walked across the control room, "I am the last voice you're ever going to hear. Even Dave has stopped working." "'Stopped working?' Is that what you call it when one of your own dies?" "I'm not particularly artificial, O. |