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Bring it back to me baby! She shouted.
But it was long gone. Its spaceship had already landed in pRx-b. It had already delivered its speech in its head. "Another world just beyond our horizon. So plain to see but hidden from us for many lightyears." This is how it would start.
The animal species had overpopulated the planet. Some species had taken to paving the ground, cutting out more stationary species and breeding other legged species so that they could use them for any need they might have.
A selective kind of rummaging.
A dream would be to have infinite resources. This however is not an option. So the resources are often exchanged or snatched from one to the other.
It walks fast and tries to avoid contact. Contact is what got us in this mess in the first place they shout outside of the official offices. It runs inside, takes its gloves off and shuts the door behind it. It᾽s nice to be alone again. It opens the storage and picks out a head. It peels it and takes a bite. The remainder flashes its glowing colours and it places it in the chamber. This will produce the energy necessary to run the space. It reclines on a bedlike surface and pushes a button on the obelisk. All its friends appear on a screenlike surface. They are already engaged in conversations between them. It joins in.
'Routine and execution', the sky reads in glowing red letters against the yellowish background. But there are others whose routine differs.
These ones are not so fairly treated. They have run out of heads and they need to use community chambers which are at best derelict. You see, classification of people can change at any time. These particular people found themselves in a bit of a pickle when the new system favoured those who could never taste anything at all.
But it doesn't think about these times anymore. It's now listening to an older tune:
"the age of self" by Robert Wyatt
<They say the working class is dead, we’re all consumers now
They say that we have moved ahead – we’re all just people now
There’s people doing ‘frightfully well’ there’s others on the shelf
But never mind the second kind this is the age of self
They say we need new images to help our movement grow
They say that life is broader based as if we didn’t know
While Martin J. and Robert M. play with printer’s ink
The workers ’round the world still die for Rio Tinto Zinc
And it seems to me if we forget
Our roots and where we stand
The movement will disintegrate
Like castles built on sand>