The Year is 2563
Wil A. Emerson
"They say we lived in a space station five hundred years ago," Aureus said to Faecium.
"Primitive, to say the least. Where did they fertilize? Where did they migrate?" Faecium asked as he put a knuckle to his inner wrist and watched a screen light up in front of them.
Aureus touched a small finger to her oral opening and an emerald green light appeared.
"That's a lovely shade for spring, Aureus."
"To match the season, Faecium. So clever of you to assert a beginning upon us when there's so little to do now that the transformation is complete."
"A mere twenty-seven years, Aureus."
"A blink of the eye," Aureus laughed. "It might have taken longer had we not skipped the horse age. Those ghastly four-legged creatures were used for transportation a thousand years before. How did they survive?"
"With little ingenuity. No agar. Rare for perpetuation of a species."
"No control of distribution for our defined DNA. A mishmash of dysfunctional humanoids with studio-type structures. No fluidity. No durability. All parts in one area. From nutrition to evacuation."
"No wonder they lived only in infancy. Embryos of our race. The disease rate too high to even achieve a half-life. Can you imagine if you dusted out at two-hundred?"
"In the negative. When did they interview for the next generation? No time to organize the double-stranded helix. Or order a fresh supply of deoxyribose sugar."
Faecium shifted, "I've received the signal. The wait is over." He picked up his magnetic lip-stick wand and secured it with his hand. In one slow motion, he moved it slowly over Aureus' information center.
Her eyes fluttered, "It is the perfect temperature."
He touched his center mass and lightly moved the magnetic wand again toward his determined partner.
Aureus swayed. "Replication. In twenty-four hours we celebrate."