Global Warming Fun 3: A Tick In Time Page 4

PART OF NORMAL EVOLUTION. CONTRARY TO THAT, WE WERE INTENTIONALLY GENE-SPLICED INTO EXISTENCE BY A HUMAN SCIENTIST."

  George wasn't sure that he understood all of that. He was an accountant, not a scientist; or at least he used to be, before the cancer struck him down. "You seem to be very well educated for insects."

  "SINCE WE WERE CREATED WE HAVE HAD ACCESS TO NUMEROUS WELL EDUCATED HUMAN MINDS. IN ADDITION OUR KIND HAS HAD INTERNET ACCESS FOR TWO DECADES."

  "I suppose there is still a lot of useful knowledge on-line, if you can find it buried among the nonsense. I prefer printed books myself, even though they are getting hard to find."

  "YES, HUMAN PSYCHOLOGICAL STUDIES INDICATE A PRIMITIVE-BASED HUMAN PREFERENCE FOR THE PHYSICALITY OF PRINTED PAPER. AS YOU SUGGEST HOWEVER, PRINTED BOOKS AND PRINTED PAPER OF ANY KIND ARE BECOMING RARE. WE RARELY READ BOOKS, LARGELY BECAUSE IT'S VERY DIFFICULT FOR US TO TURN BOOK PAGES. WE CAN EAT OUR WAY THROUGH BOOKS BUT IT IS SOMEWHAT EASIER FOR US TO USE E-READERS."

  "That also sounds like a pretty difficult thing for insects to do."

  "VERY MUCH SO. BUT WE CAN DISCUSS SUCH THINGS ANOTHER TIME. RIGHT NOW YOU NEED TO WALK HOME, EAT HUMAN FOOD, AND REST IN A WARM PLACE."

  "I had planned on dying here last night," George noted. "I expected that my dead body would soon be carted off to a morgue and I wouldn't have to go to the trouble of walking home. Walking is not easy for me nowadays. But you say that you saved me. How?"

  "WE BIT YOU AND INJECTED YOUR BODY WITH DRUGS WE HAVE DISCOVERED. AND OF COURSE WE COVERED YOU WITH LEAVES."

  With some difficulty due to weakness but with surprisingly little discomfort George sat up and looked around. In doing so the leaves that had covered his upper body fell away, exposing him to the chilly air but also to the warmth of sunshine that felt wonderful. It was still early morning and a dozen yards away there were a few joggers, bikers, and walkers on the path, enjoying doing things that more people used to do in happier past decades, and which he used to do when he was more alive. He felt cold, very tired, and a bit sore, but most of his pain was actually gone!

  "PAIN WILL BE AT DIMINISHED LEVELS FOR ABOUT A DAY. AFTER THAT YOUR CANCER WILL GRADUALLY DISAPPEAR AND THERE WILL BE NO PAIN."

  George very much doubted that. Why would ants have a cancer cure that humans didn't?

  "WE HAVE RESEARCH RESOURCES THAT HUMANS INCREASINGLY LACK: SUPERIOR INTELLIGENCE AND SCIENCE SKILLS, PRIMARILY; ESPECIALLY IN THE AREA OF BIOCHEMISTRY."

  "Just now I didn't speak but you heard me anyway! Say, you've been doing that right along, haven't you?"

  "WE SENSE THOUGHTS, NOT VOICES. WE ARE TOO SMALL TO HAVE USEFUL EARS OR VOICES. TELEPATHY IS THE HUMAN TERM THAT DESCRIBES HOW WE COMMUNICATE."

  Telepathy? George mulled over the term. He didn't believe in the ability of ants to have intelligence much less telepathy, and he didn't believe in telepathy at all anyway! But he seemed to be experiencing these weird things none the less. Most likely he was hallucinating this whole business as part of the dying process, and he was talking with his own confused but surprisingly creative subconscious. However he decided to go along with it anyway, as he had nothing better to do. "So why did you save me?"

  "WE WANT YOU TO HELP US TO DO CERTAIN THINGS WHERE SIZE DOES INDEED MATTER. BUT YOU MUST AROUSE YOURSELF AND WALK HOME NOW! YOUR POLICE COME SOON AND MAY TAKE YOU AWAY TO A HOSPITAL IF YOU APPEAR TO BE TROUBLED. YOU WOULD THEN BE BEYOND OUR HELP AND SOON DIE."

  George decided that he didn't want that. Besides, he had his fill of hospitals and of chemotherapy and radiation therapy and genetic therapy and pain therapy - none of which seemed to work as well as sleeping overnight in the Park with big talking ants. "You helped me for a reason. What exactly do you want from me?"

  "NOTHING TODAY! GO HOME NOW TO EAT AND REST. WE WILL TALK AGAIN WHEN YOU ARE STRONGER."

  With some difficulty George stood up. After a moment of dizziness he felt fine, better in fact than he had felt in many months. He was weak but without pain! His persistent nausea was gone and he even felt hungry! He brushed leaves off of himself and took in a deep breath of air that was relatively fresh for Manhattan. Then he waved goodbye to the jants. Maybe it was his imagination but he thought that he saw them each wave a tiny foreleg back at him!

  As he made his way slowly towards the paved Park path, to his surprise and delight he found that he could walk steadily and without pain! All the while he took care not to step on any insects; they were creatures that he was developing a new respect for, despite the obvious 'yuck' factor.

  "Hey you! You can't sleep here!" said a grouchy voice, as George reached the asphalt pathway.

  George turned to see an approaching policeman. He hadn't seen a policeman in weeks. Due to budget cuts there were far fewer New York policemen in recent years. "I'm not sleeping, officer; I'm walking," he explained. He didn't bother to elaborate on what a miracle THAT was!

  "I saw you stand up and brush leaves off of yourself," said the cop.

  "I like rolling around in them," said George. "Don't you ever do that?"

  "Not since I was a kid," replied the cop; "and not since the invasion of wacky bugs and worms and so-forth. What's that envelope pinned on your jacket? Hey, does that say 'suicide note' on it?"

  George had forgotten about the suicide note. He thought it would be very helpful to folks to leave one to be found with his body. He had been carrying this one around for a couple of months, just in case. "Sorry; I forgot that was there," he said, as he unpinned it and shoved it out of sight into a jacket pocket. "I've changed my mind; at least for now."

  "Good. Suicide is against the law, you know. If you did it I'd have to arrest you."

  "I'll remember that."

  "Being homeless is also illegal here in the City now, Bud. I just might have to take you in to be examined and then carted out of town. We got them bats and big snakes and everything else in the sewers now, you know, and they like nothing better than to come out at night and munch on the homeless. And you homeless guys get parasites and so forth too that you spread around. The doctors call you guys 'vectors' you know, because there are germs and worms and bugs in your guts from all over the world that you wouldn't believe, and you pass them on to others! Look! On the job I have to wear latex gloves!" He showed George his rubber glove covered hands.

  "I'm not homeless."

  "You look homeless. Let me see your PID."

  George pulled his wallet out of his jeans pocket: slow, so that the cop wouldn't shoot him with one of those electric shock guns that they all carried nowadays. He retrieved his Personal Identification card and handed it to the cop, who held it in his gloved hands like it might be radioactive or something. Both Federal and State governments required that everyone have a PID card now, even bums.

  "This better be your own PID, Buddy!" the cop warned, as he slid the card into his portable card reader. "Say, this holograph doesn't look much like you, unless you lost a whole lot of weight."

  "I did. Read further to the medical section."

  "Oh!" He exclaimed, as he handed the PID back to George and thoroughly sprayed his hands and the card reader with disinfectant. "Stage four cancer, huh? No wonder you look like crap! You are only twenty-seven years old but you look at least fifty to me! I guess you could conk-out at any time so you carry that note around! Say Bud, that's a real bummer! Do me a favor though, and die on someone else's beat? You wouldn't believe the paper work involved when we find a dead person. It's paperless paperwork, but it still sucks."

  "Sorry; I'll do that. I wouldn't want to inconvenience you."

  The cop was all smiles by now. "You must have plenty of money; your apartment is just outside the Park and all paid up, including your monthly city taxes. Can you make it back there alright?"

  "I'll make it home OK, but thanks!"

  "No problem; that's what I'm here for."

  George slowly but steadily made his way home. We walked continuously block after block, without even having to pause to rest! He stopped for some food at
a little convenience store first though. He didn't have hardly anything but so-called health food in his apartment anymore: sprouts and extracts and powders that probably would still taste like cardboard even if he could taste things anymore.

  By now he decided for sure that he had hallucinated the talking ants part of the morning. Ants certainly don't talk; that would be absurd! This was that mysterious and confusing last spurt of energy and euphoria that some people got just before death, that's what it had to be! He would probably die back in his apartment later today and not be discovered until the stench of his dead body pissed off the neighbors. That's not what he had planned but it would simply have to do. He pinned the suicide note onto the outside of his shirt as he walked home. Like the cop said, he could conk-out at any time.

  When he got back to his apartment he ate all three of the microwave dinners from the convenience store. He didn't throw them back up and he was still hungry! But he was much more tired than hungry. He took a shower and washed his entire emaciated body except for that small area of his back that he couldn't ever reach. A good citizen to the end, he did it as quickly as his weakened body could manage because of the water restrictions. Afterwards he put on his last pair of clean pajamas, changed his bed sheets, crawled into his warm comfortable bed, and fell into a deep sleep. With any luck he would die peacefully in his sleep.