Last Lamassu

By: submission | July 29, 2026

Author: John Xavier

A swarm of monarch butterflies jewelled the banyan trees and oscillated between these like autumnal leaf-shower as the blue span of Neptune gleamed beyond. The planet took up most of the circular window because the bio-sanctuary orbiting it was tidally locked as close as it could be. That view of the uninhabited world, enduring for over two centuries so far and theoretically there was no reason it couldn’t go on until the heat death of the universe.

Geshti was the only steward left. All the rest had departed for more exotic regions of the galaxy. She was happy though. And not alone. A menagerie of artificial talking-animals provided all the companionship she needed and together they kept each other busy with the blissful upkeep of their shared home.

“What about a windmill?” asked Giraffe. Said giraffe striding lazily in the shallows of the west lagoon.

“It’s possible,” replied Geshti. “But there’s not a lot of wind for it.”

“You could make some though.”

“It would… snarl things. Besides, if the windmill goes on a rampage, who’s going to joust it?”

Since Giraffe wasn’t familiar with 17th century Spanish literature, it’s not surprising that the joke went over even their lofty head. Nodding politely, they waded deeper into the water. Banyan roots uncoiling around their legs like pythons long petrified in the act of drowning.

Among the other animals there was also Tapir, Pangolin, and Condor. The first two of these were lounging on the beach; Tapir on his belly as Pangolin scooped up claws of sand and poured that down his friend’s heaving flank. Surprising both of them, Condor abruptly swooped down. With his great wings unfurled for a moment, he settled on the top of Tapir’s back.

“Oof!” winced Tapir. “You may think you’re a sparrow but you ain’t.”

“Such manners!” Condor laughed. “Like a reptile! A snapping turtle!”

Shy Pangolin smiled at the banter but didn’t feel brave enough to partake so instead he carved calligraphy on a piece of driftwood and listened.

Meanwhile Condor continued: “I asked Geshti about humanity again. I said I’d like to meet one. Hinted we should pay a visit. But she said the nearest human’s a hermit who lives over 700 light-years away.”

“They’re probably not even human still,” suggested Tapir. “Being a regular old human is boring. I did a sim once. The first uploaded guy.”

A lull in the group was accompanied by a large green cube floating past them at a looming altitude. Mother-ship for the synthetic microbes that did most of the more detail-oriented tasks in the sanctuary. Pangolin was the only one who glanced up before a personal chime distracted them; their curiosity quickly turning to panic.

“A meteor storm!” squealed Pangolin. “Geshti!”

Geshti immediately materialized, the air sizzling. “It’s fine my friend. I know.”

“Do something!” wailed Pangolin.

Geshti was going to assure them it wasn’t urgent but reconsidered. It could be taken care of. Why stress the little one?

Summoning a video hologram of local space with an unnecessary gesture, Geshti coaxed this until the bulk of the meteor swarm was visible. 389,000 objects between 1 mm and 4m in diameter. Then a pinprick flash as the Interceptor was launched. Now the hologram divided amoeba-like and in the second hologram a close-up of the speeding Interceptor. A radiant crystal tetrahedron.
And from this a pyrotechnic burst of antimatter whose micro-spores targeted each meteorite perfectly. The abyss instantly a vast sparkling tempest.

“There!” exclaimed Geshti. “Now let’s have some gelato!”