Alien Velocity by Robert Appleton Page A

technology, these bionic implants, don’t you outgrow them on a constant basis? Kinda like human babies needing a bigger nappy size every few months.”
    A rapier of light sliced through the heat haze a few miles ahead. Shortly after, he discerned a grey wedge jutting up from the yellow desert. Charlie guessed it was the crash site.
    “You are correct, Charlie. Our organic growth requires constant attention. The nerve conduits linking our real and artificial cerebella are nanotech—miniature, self-regenerating artifices—and there are other instances of this throughout our bodies. Our immune system, for instance, is a triumvirate of nano-cells, organic corpuscles and super-induced localized chemotherapy. We managed to eradicate almost every harmful disease on our planet but our bionic components do need refitting periodically, roughly once every forty years until we reach maturity, then whenever wear and tear demands.”
    “Once every forty years? How long do you live?”
    “Many centuries, if all goes well.”
    “So you’re what—a hundred?”
    “A hundred and seventy-one.”
    He shook his head and tried to imagine what a human woman would look like at that age. Not a pretty sight. There was something inevitable about this species, though, in terms of the ultimate application of science in biology, which human scientists, even now, seemed irrevocably bound for. There were parallels with Earth and the aliens’ home planet, he realised, in terms of an increasing inhospitableness.
    “So you were responsible for making your planet unliveable?” he asked. “Not you personally, but your species? That’s what it sounded like earlier. You mentioned toxins in the air. On Earth, we’re still having a hard time redressing the damage we’ve done to our atmosphere.”
    “It was a combination. Like you, we upset our ecosystems and eventually, through rampant overpopulation, the entire biosphere, until only genetic modifications allowed us to restore sufficient plant life to sustain us. It’s a sad story in the end. The damage we’d already inflicted wiped out most of the natural animal species on our eleven continents. Our nine oceans stagnated due to chemical waste pollution choking and blocking their cyclic conveyers. The knock-on effect brought the entire biosphere to a halt. In no small way, this technological supremacy you see before you was demanded of us. We created it, yes, but it was also thrust upon us by necessity. We had to combine several sciences in an explosion of research. We were, quite literally, a few years from oblivion. Tiny pockets of us managed to stay alive in bio-domes. This threadbare existence lasted for centuries, and though we were simply prolonging extinction, the most extraordinary scientific breakthroughs occurred in that darkest hour of our history. Deep-space flight, nanotechnology, the brain-computer interface, the creation of life itself—these were the death throes of our species, and though there may be others of us still out there, roaming the cosmos, we hundred and fifteen are the last known custodians of all the knowledge ever gained by life on that dead planet. It frightens me, Charlie. If anything happens to us, it will be like the whole struggle never occurred. There will be no memory of it.”
    “Well, we’ll make sure nothing happens to you,” he replied with a touch of patriarchal grit.
    No reply.
    He added, “And next time, I’ll tell you the story of my life…even if you have heard it before.”
    “I would like that, Charlie. My parents would like it, too.”
    “Your par—” He looked up into the eyes of two tall, stooping figures a short distance ahead. Their arms and tentacles were much longer, almost touching the ground, while their wrinkled skin and drooping mouths gave the appearance of deep, age-old sorrow. He expected them to dodder but they sprang toward him instead, inasmuch as their stubby, biomechanical legs allowed. Around six foot three, the