'What is the opposite of truth?' It was her final question.

'Dishonesty', I said, marveling at how uneducated this little foreign woman was. Surely it was obvious?

I tested the head restraints again, grimacing. Did this insinuate pain I wondered? Straining, I caught a glimpse of gleaming surgical appliances. She stared without
blinking. Her demeanour made me squirm.

'Deception is the opposite of truth', she concluded, punctuating each syllable with a tap of the syringe.

In her tiny yellow hands it looked huge and ominous. This was definitely going to hurt. I tried again to pull away, but the straps held tight.

There was a waft of ylang ylang as my skin punctured.

* * *

It was in the atrium later that I finally came down from the medication. The operation seemed a vague dream.

'I will cover that,' the automaton said to the waiter breaking my daze.

'No really, let me.'

I insisted weakly, endorsing the ruse but knowing that IT would pay. I smarted from humiliation. I needed a mechanical chaperone the bastards said. They thought my emotions were a threat to their society. I scratched at the scar on my neck trying to locate the implant, their cursed Confucius chip. The lessons had failed, so this was my last chance to change they said. I fingered my Rosary.

'Thank you,' I nodded to the automaton, feigning submission. So little in the coffers these days, damn them and their fat messiah. I sucked deeply on the cigarette until it burned to the filter. Furtively I pocketed the credit tip from the table whilst tin man wasn’t looking, and stepped onto the walkway.

Theft is deceit, the con-chip announced loudly in my mind.

Shocked, I choked. Exhaled noisily. Damn, the bloody implant was active already. I was caught red handed. Embarrassed at communicating with this unwanted lodger my head sank even lower into my rigid shoulders. They knew full well that I was saving for this treatment, what did they expect me to do, the dumb... But the profanity never escaped. Needles of pain pierced my cerebrum. I clawed at my balding scalp, my nails filling with moist, waxy dead skin.

Anger doesn’t become your position Father.

'You said discomfort you poxy witch.'

I screeched through grinding teeth. Knowing she would be watching with her obsidian eyes made the pain more acute. The indignity of having to pay for my own bloody cure was insulting. This was torture.

'You godless cretins diagnosed my, so-called, illness', I exploded, 'I was fine until you inserted your parasite in me'. Passersby were staring at me raving and gesticulating.

I trundled on. Excruciating pain hovered, it’s dark wings beating. Shakily, I realised silent discretion was paramount, and preferable to venting my spleen and the inevitable pain it summoned. I had to be seen to submit to their puppetry, that was the deal and this was my final hand. I improvised in full thespian mode for my public performance.

'I am a greedy, illegitimate, god-fearing, son of a sperm-donation. Happy now?'

I had deliberately missed the point, my anger wasn’t a good sign. I had to gain control of myself, time was running out.

Justifications mean you have no intention of changing. You think you are fine as you are, the con-chip stated. These days no one can stay as they are - change or perish - that is the maxim.

I wouldn’t be avoiding an early cremation at this rate, that much seemed clear.

'Good bye', the Droid interrupted. It stepped off the walkway unperturbed, waving happily.

The conveyer carried me off like lost baggage. I turned away from its smiling bovine face and knew that Kansas wasn’t a million miles away. I patted my pockets for cigarettes, stifling curses.

My head pounded with every breath. Doors opened and I trundled into the afternoon furnace, gulping for air but inhaling only pollutants and ash.

The sun loomed massive in the sky.

'Taxi.'
I shouted, pressing the call button violently, feeling better for releasing some of my frustration.

Shouting is redundant, the con-chip informed me. By now I realised that telling it to go off and reproduce with itself was going to be painful.

There was a multitude of sin shimmering in the haze. I caught a glimpse of their silf like progeny outside the hive, bobbing under parasols. God help me. I crossed myself. Memories of scandal rose up like bile. I forced myself to look away. My past indiscipline haunted me like her scanners intrusions into my soul. My anger spasmed violently into Tourettes. Expletives escaped like disturbed cockroaches from a disturbed dank rock.

Nothing was sacred. I longed for forgiveness but my God had been superseded by silicon and wires.

A taxi finally appeared through the malignant light, my alloy saviour. A portal whooshed open releasing it’s frigid air into the swirling noxious dust. My spastic gestures hopeless, in trying to clear it, succeeding only in making myself look foolish.

'Templar Dome', I croaked, gathering up my cassock and clambering in. The occidental nodded. We excellerated skyward.

'Hot enough for you?' it asked.

I grunted through clenched teeth, arranging myself as best I could.I wasn’t interested in it’s cheerfully pathetic existence, but it took my mind off the G force and sheer panic as we hurtled upward. If only I could smoke, but my prayers were consumed by motion sickness.

Deception is the opposite of truth, intruded the chip.

I writhed in the plastic seat, cold sweat prickling on my back and crotch. Not now surely, but it was relentless.

You think uncomfortably, so you feel uncomfortable, chimed it’s platitude.

A pox on this cursed technology, this damned star and blast these heretics to Hell, I seethed.

Deception is the opposite of truth, it persisted.

We plummeted down into the domes of steel and glass, layed siege from oceans of shifting sand.

'Bollocks!' I snorted. 'Makes me a liar for most of my life then'. The migraine squeezed into my head like a fattened slug. I lunged for the sick bag.

The taxi finally landed, it’s humming gyroscope a swarm of hornets in my skull. With blessed relief I sank back into the upholstery, the nausea receding. I acknowledged the driver sheepishly, offering the filched credit slip.

My eyes pleaded poverty as his hands turned the damp promise over from front to back checking the details. Questioning eyes found mine, his eyebrows animated by incredulity. His smile gone. My fraud wasn’t convincing him or Confucius. Everyone knew the clergy never went without, even during apocalypse.

'What is..?’

'Good evening', I enunciated haughtily, interrupting his disbelief. Stepping into the blinding light, gingerly clutching at my sack of regurgitation, and shuffled quickly into the waiting lift.

Dinner was waiting for me, more bland Soya protein. All this tofu and noodles malarkey; I longed for real flesh? I pushed the bowl away noisily and reached for the sake.

'What would you like to view tonight?' the droid asked, smiling from across the room.

'You decide'. I wanted to play Mah Jong with it later. Give and take, the manual had advised. More ridiculous charades. 'I am happy whatever your choice?' I smiled, sounding insincere even to my ears.

She disappeared into the kitchen with fake serenity on her modeled face.

The vow of chastity was the first to be proscribed after the plague; not that it helped me of course, they didn’t make procreation devices for my tastes. One of the benefits of my reprogramming, their heresy pronounced, was that though - she was only a droid - all the fringe benefits came as standard and worked as normal. It was the first step towards real human intimacy, they crowed. I baulked at such a disgusting notion.

'Is the air purifyer on high?'
I shouted irritably into the kitchen. I flinched from my headache, this is what Pavlov’s mangy dog endured, I suspected, shaking, as I poured more alcohol.

Intolerance and irritation are all degrees of hate, my implant chided. It’s homily was interrupted by my droid serving coffee.

Deception and nastiness, could I escape their clutches? Did I really want to? I pondered, ignoring the coffee and the none- to - subtle point it was making. I was assailed with doubts. I gulped to drown them, but they were learning to swim.

You are controlled by negative emotions, the con-chip stated. The lesson intensified. Doggedly it pursued my motives. Why didn’t I think of anyone but myself? Why wasn’t I listening? Demanding answers. On and on. The mix of sake and interrogation was stupefying. Why donate credit to charity droids when they ask you to help the decrepits? I was startled by this tangent.

'Because everyone did', I ventured. It was the truth - apparently - no pain. This encouraged me to be more daring, lulling me into the open.

'I am not fond of decrepits', I offered. 'I often cursed them when they clogged up the conveyors or went banging on about their past. It had been so tedious when they sought my council on passing over'. I winced in anticipation, but airing my intolerance's seemed to be what the implant was seeking, so cautiously I proceeded.

'Notions of euthanasia often crossed my mind after my Bishop visited. I had even supported the charter; still would if you bloody Buddhists hadn’t outlawed it. I hadn’t been at ease with decrepits being recycled into supplements for cattle though', I confided, quietly.

Many claimed this was the cause of the plague but since then it had gone too far the other way, it was nothing but respect for your elders and bean curd for every bloody meal.

Another hour of confessions passed, followed by remorseless probing and admonishments.

Caught yawning uncontrollably I was told to take a break and contemplate. Contemplate. Dimwits I sneared, I needed a cigarette. That was out of the question though with all the ill health fines. Beijing didn’t let us stray often. My quota was used up for the day.

Returning from ablutions the next topic started.

Smoking, lectured the con-chip. My eyes rolled into my head. You are warned that smoking will exacerbate your demise, but it is the attitude behind the smoking that is dangerous. It is this disposition you need to change - the mindset that makes you seek a crutch. No one is immune from Karma.

So my attitude was going to kill me was it? and there was I thinking it was going to be the supernova. My sarcasm was quashed in crushing migraine.

* * *

I sat before her, but this time without restraints. Judgment day. I smirked as she spoke - nodding to her.


'Your case has been considered. Before we announce the consequences, do you have any realisations or thoughts you wish to share, father?'

My title was always awkward for them, they had no experience in either use of the word and believed only in equality.

I was going to enjoy this final act of theater. I cleared my throat pompously and stood up.

'Looking back over my time on Earth, the one thing I can admit to, truthfully, is that I have been dishonest. Deception has been the basis of my profession and the cornerstone of my existence. I am too old to change, and even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t lower myself to your loathsome Paganism. God help you and your evil spawn'.

I bowed and sat down. There was now only one way off this god-forsaken planet, and it wouldn’t be in one of their rockets.

She bowed and returned, what was for her, a smile.

'We clearly cannot reach you as you have clearly illustrated, you would happily leave your body before you let selfishness go. Therefore we cannot risk you contaminating others, nor can we let you perish with the sun. You leave us no choice... father', she almost sighed. 'We have decided to send you home'. I laughed at her euphemism. To throw me back, more like. Death for the Atavist.

I could hear her saying something about rebirth - but I wasn’t listening.

Later I knew she would read my last thoughts. She would permit me a last supper of watery meso, maybe some mock chicken and noodles after denying my request for bread and wine. Honey and Locusts were out of the question of course. She would enjoy my audacity; my smoking between courses, and loud protestations that I always loathed oriental food. She would be tempted to postscript - her kind couldn’t help themselves. I fancy it would read; This recording is to be used for teaching purposes in the hive, and she would justify my demise with; And so his time on earth wasn’t completely wasted. I wondered if the machine would record my laughter too.

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