The Cello

Fifteen days earlier

The knife in E7’s flesh hand slipped and his littlest finger sunk into the spines of the cactus. His brisk, efficient rhythm faltered and for a split second his frustration flared. Just as quickly, though, the familiar numbness flooded his system and only the pain remained. He grit his teeth against it, and quickly yanked the spines from his skin.

“You have been injured.” Seven said in his skull, “Remove foreign objects from your skin, and pain will be relieved as puncture wounds heal.”

“Appreciated, Seven,” E7 thought at the even toned voice only he had heard, the residual pain making the words sharp. He was already deep in his rhythm again.

With his flesh hand, he sliced the bulb from the thick plant, heard the clink of the hard spines against the metal of his left palm, and stuffed it into the large leather pouch he wore over his shoulder.

Slice.

Clink.

Bag.

Every movement coincided comfortably with the inaudible ticking of time; a thing which E7 was constantly and persistently aware of.

The morning had long since passed, but the usual heat was absent. His hands still working, the boy checked the sky again. Dark clouds loomed in the distance; reminding him too much of the mountain of the mothership that dominated the horizon behind him. Of course Seven had warned him of the possibility of a storm this morning, but, while he couldn’t ignore her, he had become very adept at paying minimal attention to what she said.

He tried to recall what he had been thinking about instead of Seven’s droll this morning, but before he could trace his thoughts back that far, a welcome signal flashed in his mind’s eye. It appeared like a small red light approaching the larger green one in the center. He looked up from his work to watch the figure walk toward him between the rows of cactus. The pleasant feeling that bloomed in his chest was immediately quelled, and he regarded her with familiar emptiness.

“Hello,” He said in greeting as she reached him and silently began to work the opposite side of his row. A9’s blue eye didn’t meet his, but remained on the flick of her knife. When she was quiet a moment longer, E7 began his rhythm again, knowing he mustn’t stop his work for too long.

“It will storm today,” She said, looking to the clouds. He watched the mechanics in her right eye adjust for the distance, and then followed her gaze. The sky was growing darker, the clouds boiling against the never ending hills, and the wind had picked up.

“It seems that way.” He answered, offering her a detached smile.

He listened to the muffled thump in her chest as they worked. It beat in faultless synchronization with the rhythm of her work, as well as the steady tick of time. Her hands worked with his; no falter, no missed beats. She was comfortable.

Camaraderie. That is what persisted between them. Most days they managed to locate each other in the fields. He imagined she appreciated the clock-like perfection of their working hands as well. The only illogical thing about their unspoken partnership was how his day never felt the same if she weren’t working beside him. He supposed that the monotony, though settling with its rhythms, was too much when the only thing his mind could be occupied with was the sad excuse for conversation he could engage in with Seven.

It took forty eight minutes longer for E7 to fill his pack. At Seven’s reminder, He realized it would be unlikely that he and the girl would work together again today. It was his self cultivation day. He had three hours to be sure he had food to sustain himself for the next week, and those precious hours would start in a little more than ten minutes. A9’s bag was just less than half full, so he knew he’d be walking back to base alone this time.

“Does your unit’s garden get your attention today?” A9 asked, noticing his intention to leave. He was never sure how she remembered his schedule as well as she did. It was almost as if her Nine were tuned into Seven’s reminders, though he knew that wasn’t the case.

“I’ve got to go gather this week,” He said, adjusting the weight of his pack on his strained human shoulder.

She nodded as her knife cleaved another bulb from the stalk.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then.” E7 said after a moment, and then turned and walked toward base, leaving her silent figure alone in the field.