Against the Dying of the Light
Cloning pets. 1,000 words, 5 minute read. With Gemini.
The silence in the house wasn’t empty; it was held breath, thick with the thousand-year weight of imminent ritual. Air, filtered and conditioned, cycled with a soundless hum, yet it couldn't erase the faint, specific scent clinging to the thermo-cushion – the aroma of old dog, of sleep, warm fur, and the slightly medicinal tang of joint salve. Rufus lay there, his familiar form dimmed. His muzzle, frosted grey like ancient stone, rested on his paws. Each breath was a conscious effort, a slow rise and fall against the cushion’s faintly glowing surface. His eyes, clouded pearls, still sought Liam.
Liam knelt, his hand resting on the dog’s flank, feeling the familiar architecture of bone beneath the thinning, worn-soft fur. This set of memories, this gentle awareness peering out, was fading. The thought was a sharp, quiet pang, distinct from the dull ache of anticipated loss he knew so well. Fifteen years this time. A good life. He glanced at the shifting light on the wall, holographic ghosts of Rufuses past – a blurred splash in vanished seawater, a comical shape buried in archaic snow, generations of quiet companionship. Always the same genetic map, the same name echoing down the years. Always Rufus.
Anya was opposite him, her thumb tracing the velvet behind Rufus’s ear. Elara lingered near the edge, her small hands twisting a loose thread on her tunic. Her usual brightness was muted, her gaze fixed on the slow cadence of Rufus's breathing, then flicking to her parents’ faces, searching.
“He chased that delivery drone right off the landing pad yesterday,” Anya murmured, the memory a brief warmth in her voice that didn't quite reach her eyes. “Still thought he was a pup.”
Liam made a sound, less a chuckle than an exhaled breath. “Instinct argues pretty hard against failing bodies.” He felt the slight tremor in his own hand, stilled it.
“Dr. Aris?” Elara’s voice was barely a whisper.
The chime was soft, expected. Dr. Aris entered, her movements fluid, economical, honed by countless repetitions of this precise service. Her calm grey uniform, the slender case held lightly – it was all part of the choreography of gentle passage. Her professional empathy was a practiced balm.
“He appears comfortable,” she stated, her voice low and even. A thin ray from her wrist unit painted faint vitals on her opposite palm. “Physiology confirms readiness. When you are prepared.”
They gathered close, a familiar tableau. Murmured words, hands smoothing fur, the air charged with finality. Elara pressed her forehead to Rufus's side, a silent communion. Dr. Aris prepared the injector. Integrated into the brief scan assessing nerve function, a micro-sampler flared almost invisibly against Rufus’s cheek—data captured, logged. Standard. Necessary for the continuation.
Liam met the Specialist’s gaze. Nodded once. Anya buried her face in the warm, familiar scent of Rufus’s neck, inhaling deeply, fixing the sensation in memory. Elara watched them, then asked, her voice tight, "Will he... will he remember us?"
Anya’s hand tightened briefly on the fur before she answered, her voice gentle but slightly too quick. "He'll be Rufus, sweetie. He always is."
The injection. A sigh, softer than breath. Stillness. The held breath of the room released into an absolute, profound silence. Dr. Aris confirmed, murmured condolences, her fingers moving rapidly over her wrist unit, authorizing the bio-cremation, the expedited genetic relay to Everline. The well-oiled machine of managed loss.
Later, in the garden, under the unchanging glow of the twilight emitters, Liam placed the urn at the base of the marker stone. RUFUS. The single word seemed to absorb the silence. The stone felt cool, dense, smoothed by centuries of hands performing this same rite. He touched it, a gesture of finality and… expectation. Dinner was eaten in near silence, the clink of cutlery loud in the void. Anya automatically started to slide a piece of synth-chicken under the table, then stopped, her hand hovering over the empty space where Rufus always waited. The silence wasn’t just absence; it was a vacuum, waiting to be filled.
Morning brought the low hum of a delivery drone. The Everline Genetics carrier, cool and sterile, rested on the landing pad. Liam’s signature flowed onto the confirmation screen from muscle memory.
Inside, the carrier hissed open. A tiny, writhing ball of chestnut fur emerged, all clumsy paws and boundless, unfocused energy. It smelled sharply of disinfectant and new life. It yipped, stumbled, and looked around with wide, perfectly brown, utterly unrecognizing eyes.
Elara gasped, taking an involuntary step back.
Anya moved forward, her steps measured. She lifted the puppy. For a moment, she just held him, her eyes closed, her face pressed into the impossibly soft fur that lacked the familiar weight and scent of the dog she mourned. Then, visibly composing herself, she drew back, a determined brightness in her eyes. "Hello, Rufus," she said, her voice carefully warm. "Welcome."
Liam watched, his expression a mixture of ingrained relief and something less readable. "Right on schedule," he murmured, rubbing his jaw. "Better hide the conductive slippers." He reached out, letting the puppy’s needle-sharp teeth explore his knuckle. It wasn't memory; it was the pattern, restarting.
Elara watched her parents cradle the tiny creature, saw the practiced shift in their posture, heard the familiar name used with deliberate affection. The puppy squirmed, eager, oblivious. She hesitated, then slowly extended her hand. The puppy turned, sniffed her finger, and gave a tentative lick. Its fur felt different. Everything felt different. And yet… her parents were smiling now.
The puppy, set down, took a few unsteady steps, then made a surprisingly direct path toward the water bowl in the corner, sniffing the floor intently as if deciphering invisible instructions left long ago. Elara watched him, a question lingering behind her eyes, even as her hand reached out again to stroke the small, warm, living creature they called Rufus.