Raising the Lid

Volania felt...how to put it...heavy...not entirely herself. The news had not been wholly unexpected, of course... but nonetheless, perturbing. All bodies age eventually, even bodies as genetically superior as hers. Still, Volania had not expected the decline to begin so soon. Only thirty six hundred earth rotations or so. Hardly a life time. So many performances to give, so much acclaim to receive.

Volania raised her hand, then hesitated before placing her palm against the identification module. For perhaps the first time in her existence, she paused to consider the composite construction of flesh and sinew. She frowned, drew that which offended closer, then pouted. There. Yes, there. If one examined minutely, one could just distinguish the flattened appearance of the flesh between pores. The epidermologist was correct, her skin was becoming less vital. Fine lines branching from each pore formed a pattern of waterless creeks. ‘I’m drying out,’ Volania thought, ‘I really am.’ Shaking her head, she set the river of dark hair in motion throwing off the unpleasant thought, then stretched out to the device completing the action which gave her access to her chambers.

Immediately, lights sprang in action like lurking predators. Entering, the tall beauty swished about the relaxation compartment, irritated and agitated in equal quantities. She desired immediate compensation for the evil news she had received and she would have it. But where could she be? Surely not engaged with more of that antiquated rubbish? Striding angrily to access a monitoring module, she dialled the code to establish a location. Yes. At it again. As usual. Volania pressed the summoning code then turned to the refreshment dispenser. A moment later a portion of the compartment’s wall slipped noiselessly to one side and a tall girl, a younger version of Volania herself, stepped meekly into view.

‘Do you need something?’ the girl inquired softly.

‘A rub.’

Inclining her head almost imperceptibly, the newcomer conceded the need. ‘Difficult performance?’

‘What? No. Of course not. I was superb.... It’s just that...careful! Don’t spill my Nebulant.’

‘Pardon my clumsiness,’ the girl apologised taking her position behind the slumped, tense figure, reaching forward to administer the massage. ‘Am I doing this right?’

‘What? Mmmm, yes.’ She paused to absorb the girl’s soothing kneading. ‘Tell me, were you fossicking through father’s things again?’ The long fingers stiffened, a reaction perhaps, to the tight muscles they’d encountered.

‘Yes.’ There was no point in lying. Each compartment monitored activity faithfully, without remission.

‘I thought so. I don’t know why you waste your time trying to decipher that mouldy rubbish.’

‘It’s not rubbish to me,’ the standing figure responded gently. Volania snorted, a most uncharming sound.

‘It’s trash. I would have thrown it all out aeons ago only it seemed a little, I don’t know, disrespectful to my father’s memory.’

The probing fingers halted, leaving room for a timid whisper, ‘He was my father, too.’

‘Don’t be a fool!’ Volania rolled out the phrase comfortably, ‘you had no father’. She shrugged her shoulders to indicate the massage was no longer welcome. ‘Plait me,’ she commanded, leaning forward to allow access to the river of silk which was her greatest fame.

Lifting the almost living weight as tenderly as one might a new born child, the girl proceeded to follow her elder’s instruction. Deft movements indicated familiarity with the chore. ‘I wish you’d let me grow my hair,’ she commented, the sigh in her voice more implied than actual.

‘To what purpose?’

‘None.’

‘Seems to me you’ve answered your own question.’

‘Yes.’

Volania breathed deeply, bringing the Nebulant to her lips. Resting tiny, almost Lilliputian teeth on the rim, she made small, porcelain sounds. ‘I visited the epidermologist today,’ she began. Her companion failed to answer. ‘He presented me with some...disturbing news.’ Chink, chink, chink. While the beautiful one considered, the one who stood behind waited, hands by her side. ‘It seems I have… gone beyond the ability to regenerate...’

‘I am sorry,’ the standing figure responded throatily.

‘I’m not interested in your commiserations,’ Volania snapped, ‘I want to know if you understand what that means.’

‘Yes.’ The weight of that single word hung between the two speakers like a motionless pendulum.

‘I think you should go to your room.’

Obeying without any perceptible hesitation, the younger of the two glided noiselessly to the opposite wall. For the briefest of seconds she paused while an opening unseamed itself, then she disappeared. Volania blinked a number of times, thinking rapidly, then spoke the command which would allow her to examine the departed girl’s behaviour. Instantly, a screen lowered itself coming to rest a comfortable distance from its reclining mistress. ‘Closer,’ Volania instructed, then dissatisfied with the effect, ‘closer’. The pale, smooth column of a youthful neck presented itself, a neck inclined in concentration. Noting the ‘book’ which the girl sat reading, Volania’s nostrils twitched in irritation but she fought her anger down. After all, she hadn’t expressly forbidden the reading of books, only declared it worthless.

‘Closer,’ came the whisper as breathy as worship while the speaker leaned forward in a voyeuristic pose. ‘Clossserrr’. Peering with the intensity of a research scientist, Volania scanned the image checking for the slightest hint of aging. She found none. Exhausted, she flopped back against the overstuffed recliner. ‘Return,’ she ordered, right hand groping for the receptacle which could not at first be found. Locating the draught, she returned to the chink, chink, chinking of before, dark eyes narrowed in concentration. On the screen, only the brown spotted pages and one youthful hand, moved.

Had she chosen to do so, Volania could have zoomed in on the contents of the aged parchment, but there would have been little reward for one uninitiated in the antique art of reading. When the initial draught of Nebulant was consumed, she rose lazily to prepare another, then returned to her former position to further brood. How could the girl absorb herself so completely? she wondered, downing another much faster than the first. Surely she could find a better way to spend her time? Volania had had just about enough. Read, read, read. The little fool.

The second summons came not entirely unanticipated, though the girl could have wished for a more considerate interruption. Placing the crumbling volume down tenderly, careful to mark the appropriate place, she turned to face the viewer, stripping her face of any regret. It would not do to infuriate the other, not, if as expected, she had reverted to her normal mode of evening entertainment. The tall figure sighed through carefully neutral lips.

‘There you are, you took your time.’ The quiet figure did not presume to answer aware that any comment would only invite further rebuke. ‘When I summon you, you should come immediately, not wait till you finish fiddling with whatever it was that so important you could not drop it the moment I called.’

‘I came immediately,’ was the meek reply.

‘You came when you felt like it, dawdling all the way.’ The unjust accusation hung between the two like a partly drawn sword.

‘Did you want something?’

‘Yes. Yes, I do want something.’ Somehow, the words sounded menacing. ‘I want something you have. Something you were made for.’ The standing figure quivered as a taut wire vibrates when plucked by uncaring fingers. ‘Come over here.’ Moving a few feet closer, the younger of the two did as she was bidden. ‘Not there,’ Volania growled, ‘here. Here, right next to me. On the recliner. Here.’ Careful to stifle a moan which threatened to worm its way through bitten lips, the young girl forced herself to approach the elder. When she reached the recliner, she dropped stiffly to her knees. ‘That’s better. Now, let me see…’

Gripping the girl’s hair, Volania dragged her downwards. Buried in the other’s lap, the girl’s trembling soon increased to the point where her terror could not be concealed. ‘Stop that,’ Volania demanded, slapping the girl smartly on the arm, ‘stop it right now. Anyone would think you were frightened of me. I won’t have that, I won’t tolerate that reaction. Stop it or I’ll really give you something about which to tremble.’ Sucking in breath, holding it, willing her heart to slow, the girl succeeded in controlling her dread. For the moment. ‘Your hair is impossibly thick,’ Volania observed. ‘I think it’s time I relieved you of… an unnecessary accessory. Besides…’ she added, a certain cunning creeping into her too suave voice, ‘I want to see what is underneath. Wait here, I’ve exactly the right thing for the task.’

Volania rose unsteadily to her feet leaving the girl curled in foetal acceptance and strode, muttering unintelligibly to the far wall. The wall obligingly unseamed itself. Aware that the immediate threat had subsided, the girl raised herself on shaky elbows and stared in the direction of the departed woman. She knew she had only a few moments before the other’s return, but still, even a few moments were something to be savoured. Sniffing dejectedly, she concentrated on steadying her shaking hands. If she could but succeed in drawing attention away from her fear, perhaps the other would tire sooner and look elsewhere for amusement.

‘Here we are,’ came the excited announcement, ‘never thought any of Dadda’s hoard would prove useful, but here I am, proven conveniently wrong.’ Giggling with a mixture of satisfaction and self revelation, Volania stumbled forward waving an object the girl failed to identify. ‘You’ll need to hold still,’ she advised, solicitous, ‘I’ve only seen it used once.’ Clumsy fiddling levered a flat squarish blade from a bowed, bone handle. ‘It’s called a razor. I wouldn’t trouble you with its name but I know you are sooo fond of words. Now come here like a good little girl and let me unburden you of that heavy head of hair.’

Eyes terror widened, the girl remained half crouched, desperate. Blood pooled in her mouth, the result of an attempt to clamp down a whimper. There was no escape, she knew that. No choice other than submission. Yet crippled by apprehension, she could do little except crouch paralysed.

‘Don’t make me ask again,’ Volania warned, tapping the handle against her thumb. A low moan was the only response. ‘I said,’ snarled her persecutor striding forward, ‘don’t make me ask twice.’ Clutching a handful of soft, yielding hair, she wrenched the girl to her knees. Unsheathing the blade, she brought the evil instrument parallel with her victim’s eyes.

The girl forgot she was threatened with merely losing her hair. She forgot the futility of resistance. Rearing back suddenly, she startled Volania who fell, astounded. The razor knocked clean from her hand rose like a graceful bird then landed with a light plink. Two sets of eyes focussed on the lightly spinning implement. One pair of eyes were perplexed, unregistering, the other pair of eyes were hot with determination. Beginning slowly to stand, the girl moved towards the razor. When she had it firmly pressed in the palm of her hand, she turned to face Volania, who sat, still stunned, legs akimbo. ‘You will not remove my hair.’ It was not a challenge, it was a statement of fact.

Uttering an ugly, gurgling, inhuman sound, Volania sprang to her feet and lunged. The girl yelped, stiffening the arm that held out her only weapon. The impact sent both crashing to the floor. Of course, the elder had the advantage being charged with a sense of outrage and spurred by innate aggression. But the younger was more desperate. Surprisingly, no noise punctuated their struggle. Grasping the razor clenching wrist, Volania forced her superior weight on the joint, grinding the bone back and forth as if the weapon were already in her hand and she planned to saw away her adversary’s limb. The girl emitted a silent howl inspiring a responding sneer. Volania was beginning to enjoy herself. She had never suspected how dissatisfying submission had become. Forcing a knee into the other’s abdomen, she began to bounce, ramming into the other’s vulnerability. Only the searing intrusion of recollection halted the frenzy. With a white hot flash, sharp as a whip lash, the epidermologist’s instructions imposed themselves on her memory: ‘Keep the skin well hydrated and avoid all blemish, particularly bruising.’ She halted.

Sitting back on her haunches, still astride the other, Volania considered the possible extent of the damage. Naturally, the razor had already been retrieved. With a contemptuous sniff, she unsheathed it. Gripping a generous quantity of the prone girl’s clothing, she sliced through material revealing the heaving abdomen, smooth skinned as ever but now mottled and discoloured by her enraged reaction. Volania scowled, slashing at the remaining clothing in her continued investigation.

‘Look what you’ve done,’ she exploded, unable to contain her ire. ‘Now, the operation will have to be delayed.’ Gripping the razor with a fierceness that threatened to splinter the bone handled object, she glared, impassioned by unreasonable urgings. But no, this would not do. Much as she longed to rip, to mutilate, to punish, it could not be done. ‘Get up,’ she hissed, hauling the limp figure to her feet. ‘Remove your clothes. I’ll be back in an instant. You had better be prepared.’ Stabbing the air with a warning gesture, Volania turned on her heel and left the room. Inside the girl, thoughts of escape, of rescue, tumbled and whirled. To no purpose. Utterly forlorn, she began to remove what remained of her clothing, dropping the discarded items, completely disconsolate.

‘Dawdling. As ever.’ The other’s presence erupted through the noiseless entry. ‘I said to be ready before I returned. Did you think I had forgotten?’ Sliding up to the girl with predatory ease, Volania grasped a hank of hair pulling the other’s head back. ‘I haven’t forgotten about this either,’ she hissed, producing the blade whose obscene sharpness was highlighted by a shard of light which leapt along its edge. ‘First rehydration, then…’ the word, released was almost spat, ‘this.’

‘No.’ Spoken without force, the word was an icy block with the power to ward the searing poison of the other.

‘No?’ Volania queried with venomous irony. ‘I don’t believe you appreciate your position.’

‘I appreciate it perfectly,’ the girl responded, still quiet but gaining in strength.

‘You!’ Volania yelped, emphasising her anger by shaking the other’s head, ‘belong to me. I can do as I please with you.’

‘That is true,’ her victim replied, ‘I have no power, no name, no identity. But one thing I do have,’ her voice sinking to a low whisper, ‘I have a sense of self. Kill me if you choose, you plan to flay me in any case, but I will not let you remove my hair.’

‘You defy me?’ Volania gulped, disbelieving.

‘I defy you,’ the tall, slim girl agreed, gently but firmly.

For a brief moment, the world stood still as Volania absorbed the impossible statement uttered by her clone. Stunned to the point of near imbecility, she failed to register the other slipping from her hold. When her eyes refocussed, she saw the girl, literally saw the girl for the first time in all her naked, youthful beauty. It was this more than anything else, this flaunting of nubile loveliness that blasted the last shreds of human reason from her mind. Bursting from the depths of her narcissistic envy surged the need to destroy. Snarling, she leapt at the girl who merely stepped aside.

Volania suffered a mere split second of disappointment before her head made contact with the refreshment dispenser. Lone relic of her father’s deemed worthy of display, the counter was of solid marble, a real collector’s item. Had her head not been turning in instinct to follow her quarry, had she not leapt crouched, ready to kill, perhaps her neck may not have broken. Who can tell?

Immune to grief, the girl stood blinking, silent witness to the other’s demise. Nothing could be done and so she stood staring. ‘I should feel something,’ she chided herself, but she could not. She waited. A faint plink gained her attention. Relaxing in death, the woman had released her hold on the razor. The girl frowned, stepped towards the recumbent figure, squatted, took hold of the razor. Over and over she turned it in her fingers, avoiding a decision. Then, with a deep breath, she took the woman’s hand slicing open the palm, extracting a tiny disc. Before thought could interfere, she opened a similar slit on the back of her right hand inserting the object. It would not do to damage the palm. Each whorl and line combined to form a singular pattern, a signature palm print.

Stepping boldly to the identification module, the girl suddenly recalled her nakedness and returned. Escape she must, but appropriately attired, who knew what waited in the world beyond the door? A few minutes found her dressed and prepared to leave, razor in a pocket, crumbling relic in one hand. Before exiting the chambers however, she turned and scanned the area which had constituted her life’s experience. Here she had spent her entire existence. Here in these lonely chambers. Subconsciously, she stroked the cover of the book pressed to her chest.

Seeing her tormentor lying crumpled, negated, the girl did finally feel something, something which could not be identified, a sadness of sorts.

‘I have no name,’ she said aloud as if gently admonishing the sprawled figure.

On impulse, she opened the greying pages. Slowly, almost shyly, a smile began to creep across her features. With the book open at the page to which fate had directed her, she strode to her genetic twin, laying it where the sightless eyes could bear witness. The tall beauty nodded as if a question had been asked, turned and left the chambers forever.

The one left behind stared mournful, uncomprehending. What can it mean? arched eyebrows seemed to query. On the page kneeled a girl, equally astonished, a girl opening a box.