Memoranda by Jeffrey Ford

hands still protecting my ears, and leaned forward to peer inside.
    This room was also bathed in the clear light of morning, and, to my wonder, filled with all manner of strange-looking equipment that demanded my immediate attention. All of it, though, receded out of view as my eyes came to rest on perhaps the strangest scene I had ever witnessed.
    Standing by a large window opening at the far right of the room was Anotine. Her face was lifted slightly so that she could make direct eye contact with, of all things, a human female head that floated in the air of its own volition. The sight of this caused my hands to drop to my sides, and the maddening noise that issued from the open mouth of the bodiless woman passed unimpeded into my ears, drilling my mind. The intensity of it made my head swim as I focused on the twin beacons of green light that connected one woman’s gaze to the other’s. Both the pain of the din and the utter madness of what I witnessed made me gasp. I fell against the side of the entrance for support.
    Anotine’s tormentor shut her mouth, and the noise suddenly ceased. The green rays of light appeared to retract into the eyes of the floating head, and the moment they disengaged from Anotine’s, she let out a deep breath and doubled over.
    Then, like a hummingbird flitting from one flower to another, the head flew across the room and hovered in the air three feet from my face. I thought of running, but instead I simply slid down the side of the entrance until I was kneeling on the floor. The horrid thing floated there in front of me, and I was hypnotized by the way its black hair writhed behind it like a nest of angry snakes. The face was drawn and appeared perfectly cruel in its pale green complexion. Its lips were deep red, its sharp teeth and irisless eyes, pure white. A growl sounded from somewhere within it, obviously not its throat, for it had none. Even in my state of panic, I understood that it was admonishing me for having interfered. I was certain for a moment that it was going to lunge at me, but as quickly as it had come, it circled once around the room, hair streaming behind it, then flew out the window.
    Anotine looked over at me and smiled. “You’re shaking,” she said.
    I got to my feet, somewhat put out by her offhand reaction to my fear. “I’m glad you are amused,” I said.
    With this she began to laugh out loud. “There, there,” she said, and she walked over and put her arms around me.
    This was almost as surprising to me as the sight of the flying head. All I could think in the brief time that the embrace lasted was how fortunate I was that she was now dressed. As she released me, I suddenly realized that the act was not one of affection but merely that of a researcher comforting a frightened lab animal. It would be dangerous for me to assume that I was anything more than Cley, the specimen.
    â€œWe call that the Fetch,” she said as she backed away.
    â€œIt’s an atrocity,” I said.
    â€œNot very pretty,” she conceded, “but an amazing device.”
    â€œYou mean it is a machine?” I asked.
    â€œNot a machine in the sense of gears and motors, but an organic entity that works as a tool. It swoops down from the tower and, we believe, like a dog retrieving a stick, fetches back information to whomever or whatever is up there. Doctor Hellman named it. It seems to gather our discoveries into itself through the beams emitted from its eyes. We have all been scrutinized by it many times, and we have all witnessed it probing inanimate objects in the same manner.”
    â€œDoes it hurt when it studies you?” I asked.
    â€œIt’s an odd experience. The only unpleasantness comes from the fact that you stop breathing while it does its work,” she said.
    I shook my head and grimaced.
    â€œI suppose it’s better than having to write reports constantly,” she said with a forced