The Fly House (The UtopYA Collection) Read Free

be true.  But spared hardly seemed to be a gift any of us wanted in those days.  The months we spent, huddled within our Plutian tents, never knowing if our tent would be one of the many defective shelters that brought screams from our neighbors and friends and family when the scorching was upon us.  We had no other option, but to do our best to survive the heat that still boiled our skins. 
    "We were spared," the old man said with a bitter laugh. "We bedded down in our own waste.  We ate whatever was delivered by the sporadic visits from the Plutians, to the chosen ones of us.  Those of us who succumbed to hunger, to eating our own, cannot be blamed.  Their grief and shame is their only judge, as we forgive them completely for what we all considered doing ourselves.
    "And once our Earth was thoroughly cleared of the life we once knew, merciful Plutians came and gifted us our new life.  We were given hybrid seeds, some made from those the Plutians had taken before the scorching, some created new.  We were not given the seeds to grow the food we knew, but instead, we received the plants that were necessary to construct the atmosphere required to build a dragon trade. 
    "We struggled to hold to the vestiges of our language, but had to choose a common ground for our communication.  All of our children now speak only English.  They have a different world in which to relate.  They don't understand us or our symbolism- this new world holds nothing of our old."  The old man stood and paced in front of the fire, his arms flinging shadows toward the edge of the light. 
    "Some would despair that Pluto populated our landscape with foreign fields that bring us little food...but none in this circle, no.  We are grateful to 1295 for restoring a base humanity.  We are blessed to rely upon Pluto's generosity for our food and clothing and shelter.  What use is independence?  We are Dragon Harvesters.  Our job is repopulation of our thinned race.  We are fortunate for these lives that trundle on without the complication of advancement."
    The was dancing quite close to a sort of treason once again and the people around the fire shifted like the last nervous birds that had been eaten by the first dragons that came to Earth.  The boy looked upon his Gra for a final vote.  She was craned toward the taleor herself, as if he were her pied piper.
    "We were given the mighty dragon eggs, w hich we harvest for the Plutians’ benefit.  The eggs are traded," the old man snorted, "to the other planets and to those in other galaxies, so that the young dragons will not hurt us.  We mature only a small number of beasts for personal use by our House's Plutian overseers.  It lessens our burden of personal protection and affords us a much simpler life, does it not? 
    "We are so very lucky to begin again as a race.  This is why we have put aside the old naming, to name ourselves and our young with names of life.  It is to remind us of our luck, as we struggle to keep ourselves from the jaws of extinction. 
    "This is also why it is so important that each of you mate one another without thought of enduring love or parental bonds.  The Plutians have made it so.  We need not bind our individual Houses together, or trust in one another, when we are so richly rewarded with threadbare lives for living apart."
    The taleor's words were sculpted, his vocal italics precise. 
    "What could be a simpler objective than our day-to-day survival?  It is simple to use our food and our daughters as currency to one another.  This keeps our race...peaceful." 
    The old man's gaze circled the fire again.  The original, ancient word that belonged at the end of the tale had been selectively omitted after one taleor had lost his life over finishing the story with the one concise word.  Overheard, translated, and interpreted by a Plutian, the exact word, strong, was immediately banned from use.  
    "We follow our basest urges now, because that is all