She sat in her sun dress above the streambed, swinging in the soft sling seat she had come to prefer in her old age. Fifty-four years of joyless sex with the men and women who ruled the world had left her with a body that she wished soon to leave behind. Unfortunately she had the best medical care in this dying world, the owners of which seemed to be equally determined to outlive everything in it but her.

It had been a year since she had had a real hug from a real man, even though it had been 54 years since she had a day without a man. She could scarcely fathom another year lived like this. Hopefully, when he got here, he would take her away, if not up and away, than down into death.

He heard the even crunch of Usher Matheson’s boots as he approached, a towering broad shouldered specimen of physical perfection clothed in his tight fitting armor, who she was so glad to have avoided being intimate with. The ushers were not eligible for her attention.

He clomped up onto the deck and looked down upon her with a wan smile, which, over the course of their ten years together, he had gradually permitted himself. He was old for one of his kind, nearly fifty, and his great frame was beginning to sag in places, the skin beneath his scars hang, the big predatory eyes beginning to waver in their course. She had come to love him like a father, a type of human she had never had concourse with. Though she had known thousands of men who insisted she call them daddy, the word “father” is one that had never crossed her lips.

He flexed his mighty left hand in salute, which made her giggle absently, her eyes drawn to the plush velvet pink of the scroll, of the type sent by those who won the lottery for a remote audience with her. She was not permitted to hear from them through the live feed. The automoderation feed channeled these missives, one daily, through security—before the hypercritical eyes of those who commanded her dear usher like a puppet.

She feigned a sneer, “I speak to three-hundred-and-sixty-five wounded souls a year, and am only permitted this one reply on this one-hundred-and-eightieth day of the year?”

“I can dispose of it, if you wish, My Lady,” his deep voice rumbled.

She had never been able to tell if he had a sense of humor, but over the past year had begun behaving as if he did. “If you do, Usher, I shall shatter my hand on one of your unbreakable bones.”

He rumbled silently, a laugh that never escaped his barrel of a chest, and handed over the scroll.

She examined it, not wanting to hasten this rare occasion, looking first upon the seal, which was a gold imprint in the form of a certain unattractive, sallow-faced, sad-eyed girl with soft dirty hair and an irrepressible smile, hugging the most beastly, savage-looking pet that could have emerged from the mind of some tinkerer needlessly rethinking the concept of a pet.

“Thank you, Usher. Of all of the poor children and broken-faced men I’ve spoken to, this girl has touched me like you would not believe.”

He looked at her with a faraway pained eye, and growled, “Oh, I would believe.”

They looked at each other like lost souls that had looked past each other for eternity. Her mouth dropped open as he stalked over to the wrought iron rail and snapped off a twisted piece of iron, holding it between his hands like some ancient weapon, pointed down between his feet.

“What, what is it?”

“You are to be preserved for cultivation. Medical projects steady deterioration of your appearance beyond what is acceptable. You will be replaced by Sixty-nine, I think. Why not Sixty, I have no idea—she’s the most like you.”

A tear wet her cheek, her heart raced, and then, just as her chest heaved to accommodate a last breath, she grew calm, resigned, relieved.

“Thank you—whatever your real name is—for respecting me enough to give me a moment. I wasn’t supposed to get this, was I?”

“I am Daniel. And no, my handler did not authorize this. In Thirty-one they realized that your smile was fading after reading the letters—not a lot of bright spots up there, I suppose.”

“Suppose? You know, you’ve been there.”

“Please,” he begged, “let us continue.”

“Of course, my kind Usher—Daniel, I feel all the better about leaving now. What is the point, after all?”

She broke the seal with hands that were surprisingly free of the shakes she had expected, and read the last message from the outside world she would ever receive.

5/13/34

“Bennie, his name is Bennie, Bennie Boy to be precise. I like to be precise.

“Well I carried Bennie downstairs. All 75 pounds of him but I did it. He is acting so sad like a dog that has been beat too much. I’ve never raised a hand to him ever. He is such a good dog and so sweet. His back leg just quivers now. I know it won’t be long like Cinder, Brant’s friend’s dog, from Brant and Lassie. They watch you too. His leg is worse than hers was. She always managed to get up without help. She just couldn’t stay up. Thanks for listening.”

6/1/34

Post Script:

“My sweet boy is gone. He was my best friend.”

And she cried again, cried like her best friend—a person that she had never had, but had yearned for her entire long life—had died in her arms. She sobbed until she was afraid that her gushing tears would ruin the girl’s letter. She then looked up to accept her fate.

There he stood, beautiful in his ugliness and power, with pained eyes set over a dutiful scowl, leaving not a doubt in her sorrow-filled mind that he would unfailingly perform his duty with that terrible piece of iron torn from her own private refuge with his powerful hands.

She had to be heard by someone in the world before she left. As he seemed to be giving her time to collect herself, she took the time to wipe her nose with her kerchief before speaking.

“Daniel, I have often wondered, being such a fragile thing, what must it be like to be so strong, so able to thwart our owners, if only for a moment?”

He looked into her eyes emotionlessly and said, “It is an honor. Just as it was an honor to protect you.”

He then raised the twisted rod of broken iron over his head, and brought it down with all of the power in his massive arms…