Manhattan, 2157 C.E.
Milos closed the door of the apartment. In the darkness, he placed the bag from the pharmacy on the short breakfast bar and pulled the tall drapes closed with irritation. The automation was supposed to interpret his feelings about the lighting levels and the noises of the crowds outside.
"Note to facilities," he said in the stiff whisper that activated computer recognition. "Review mood settings." A careful peal from hidden speakers acknowledged his concern.
"I deactivated them," crackled the synthetic voice behind him. "My mood is my own business."
Milos looked back to the long seating area where he himself might have expected to lounge in front of a game or the inanities of Public Service news. His guest had somehow moved to this specific area of rest at the moment Milos most needed it.
The guest had been described to Milos by his dying father as their distant ancestor, but Milos did not know what that meant. Probably some kind of religious allusion.
Milos knew the guest as his burden in life, and that burden was usually trapped within the bedroom, shrouded by the wood and metal panels of an odd box little bigger than a refrigerator. It was difficult to guess what form the guest's body would have to take within those confines, so Milos did not guess. He ignored that particular problem, and followed his dying father's instructions.
"I would have moved you out here myself if you'd asked." Milos resisted the subliminal urge to request activation of the lights. He shifted to get a better view of the shape in the dark. "I just thought you might be upset by the noise and the lights." He tried to remain his usual understanding self.
"I'm not a domestic pet."
Milos was well practised in ignoring his ancestor's sarcasm. "I'll leave it open for you. They might be showing the closing ceremony on the tube. Will I activate it?"
"Describe it to me."
"Oh. I don't know. I'm not very good at this sort of thing. Lots of people. Mainly smiling. Children and adults. Fireworks. And those sparkly things that you can hold. In your hand." He paused to clear his throat. "Oh, and marching bands. Teenagers in musical uniforms. Brass instruments and those awful drums that don't make real music. And the police, some on horses. Metal helmets. But all good fun." He turned the word over in his mouth. "Fun." He was satisfied with the word. "Have fun while it lasts."
The shape within the glass case pulsed.
"You do not realize how true your words are."
"It's now?" asked Milos. Fear thinned his voice.
"Yes," hissed the synthetic voice. "The time is now."
Milos turned to the express cooker and tapped in a short numerical code on the control screen. The domestic dashboard shimmered and resolved into a heavier, more complex arrangement. He paused, trying to recall the codes which he had been forbidden from writing down. He entered the first of the commands to identify himself, then rapidly followed with the first of the main commands.
Manhattan, 2177 C.E.
Susan Campbell looked down from her cramped vantage point in the pavilion building. It was a breezy afternoon, bright and crisp, and she let herself enjoy the natural coolness on her cheeks.
The park in the center of the city had once been green and once been the site of the grandest exhibition in all human history. Among the rusted iron and the burnt tree stumps it was still possible to see the giant plastic banners announcing "A Welcome to All in Manhattan", "The World's Fair 2150" and "The Greatest Show on Earth!".
She had seen many celebrations on many planets, even the Great Exhibition of 1851 in London. But this had marked the end of an era, the victory over ill health, starvation and war. And it had marked the beginning of something worse.
A slight whistle from behind her signalled the approach of a friend. She remained quiet but nodded warmly as Dawley appeared, tentatively leaning around the corner of the wooden staircase, looking left and right, then ascending in a cringing, hopping manner.
He put his palms on the floor and pulled himself the last few inches to stop beside her. He glanced over the ledge down at the park with a smile, then crouched down and put his face close to hers. He waved his hand at his mouth to show his eagerness to communicate verbally. She shrugged and rocked her head to concede they might try a few words.
"Any - one..?" he mouthed with a hint of breath. She knew he would have said more in a less dangerous location. He would have called her 'Susan' and expressed his excitement at all the new sights and smells, despite the decay and the destruction. He liked to say her name, 'Susan', as if she was a beloved baby daughter. He probably did not even notice, but she did. And she hated it. She still liked him, but she hated it.
"Not - human…" she whispered.
His eyebrows raised moderately in alarm. "Them..?" he mouthed.
She laughed silently and slapped his shoulder to show he was too timid. She mimed flapping wings with her palms. "Birds…" Then she wiggled her fingers above the scarf concealing her hair and mimicked big teeth. "Rabbits…"
He smiled with a forced kind of satisfaction. She found it patronizing, but she was still happy to have him along. As she had done earlier, he approached the ledge again and looked around at the mix of devastation. Then he pointed up weakly at the functional tower blocks skirting the former edge of the park.
"One of these..?" he mouthed. "You - think..?"
She frowned. Surely they were not that close to their target? Not after all these years. Now she herself felt a slight thrill of something new. She looked at the tower blocks. They had addresses to search. But it was early days. She shrugged.
"We - wait…" she whispered. But her eyes ran along the myriad balconies and the rows and rows of reflecting panes.