Life for the Lybithians

by Anna Boyce

The final hall in The Art Gallery of Terra displayed one canvas. The painting ran the length of the room and rose to the top of the high ceiling. Arrival of the Lybithians by Morris Theo rivaled Baroque art with its attention to detail, the light brush strokes imbuing its glowing forms with godlike grace and nobility.

 Kara came once a week to sit in front of the painting. A vigil. A reminder of why she existed and why she must not exist when the time was right. Her thighs stuck to the leather cover of the gallery bench. The pulsing pain in her soles eased. She studied the lean elongated bodies of the Lybithians exiting their ship, their eyes human in a way, robes glimmering in the moonlight. They held piles of gleaming blue blynite, the zero-carbon energy source, humanity’s salvation from extinction. The humans were depicted as hobbling at the Lybithians’ feet, hunger and gratitude painted on their grubby faces.

Kara coughed. It echoed in the empty gallery. She was alone save the guard. How many people a day fell in front of the painting in tears, reaching to touch the Lybithians, mirroring the humans in the scene? The guard needn't worry, Kara wasn’t going to touch the painting. She was showing her appreciation to the Lybithians with her life.

Kara was scheduled to die in one year. An appointment had been booked since her birth. She was bound by law and moral obligation to attend. Her O-neg blood type demanded it. She would never enjoy the renewed existence the Lybithian’s blynite had given humans, not without the shadow of the date looming, corroding all forward thinking.

She scanned the painting’s night sky, flecks of white denoting the stars, where the humans could not go, where the Lybithians roamed. A man, plain clothed, neat, young like herself, settled in beside her and gazed at the painting. She continued to look forward; her neck tickled with his presence. He smelt of earthy nuts and his odor diffused into the vacuum of the gallery around her.

“I think Morris Theo did a good job of painting the translucent yellow hue of the Lybithian’s skin,” the man said.

“I guess. I’ve never met one, and certainly not an ill one,” she said.

“Right, who has?” He wiped his hands on his khaki pants, leaving spots of moisture.

They sat in silence.

“Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be working?” he asked.

Kara rolled up the cuff of her shirt and showed him the branded O-neg on her inner wrist. Marked as having the only viable blood type for Lybithians. Marked as a guaranteed producer of viable donors when she copulated with other O-negs.

“You?” she asked.

He presented his wrist. It had the same branding.

“Free ride ‘til 25.” He chuckled.

“Yeah ‘free’,” she said. She turned back to the painting. “I wonder if the trade is really worth it?”

“Dark.” He flashed her a wry smile.

“It is dark.”

“You only think about it because we’re the ones being traded. Everyone else gets to live a life. I’d say it’s worth it.”

“I’ve heard it,” she said. “I don’t need a sermon from a stranger.”

He swiveled to face her.

“Want to go somewhere more private?” He glanced at the guard.

Sweat beaded on her upper lip. Her hands became fists. She wasn't soothed by the painted Lybithians’ placid elegance.

“I’m not some ‘thing’ to be used to fill your baby allotment,” she said. “I already did my two. Piss off.”

The security guard focused on them.

The man held his hands up, eyebrows arched. “Not asking for that. I’ve done my two as well.”

She glared at him. “It must have been hard work for you.”

“I still had to give up my children.”

The words stung. The stinging bites of fire ants, little memories, crawled over her, breaking her skin. The delicate warmth of her newborn baby against her chest. Hearts aligned. Its eyes grey and curious. Those moments twice lived and twice taken. Given to the O-neg homes.

“Why are you talking to me?” Sour acidity coated her tongue.

The man slid closer to her.

“I’m Dirk,” he whispered, “I want to help you stay alive.”

▲▼

Dirk leaned against the side of a boarded-up subway station entrance. The signature green paint of the transit system was peeling around the door, crumbling red brick exposed. Graffiti, thick looping letters paired with grotesque faces, was sprayed across the plywood boards blocking the old entrance to the station. Kara walked towards Dirk, the calm expression on his face came into focus. Her shoulders tightened. Dirk had asked her to come to the abandoned subway station, and her desperation to live the life others did, have a family, grow old in the arms of a love, to own the ability of forward thought, had made her listen. Here, now, striding towards a man she didn’t know, in a forgotten desolate place, to a vacant station, the reality of the idea proved less appealing.

“I made it. Now what?” she said. Her voice was strong, the flutters in her nerves didn’t betray themselves in her speech. If she ran, would he chase her, tackle her to the ground?

“You start your new life,” he said. “Come on.”

He swung a board attached by one nail aside. A triangle of light cascaded down a staircase, penetrating the darkness below. Kara slipped through the opening after Dirk. He clicked on a flashlight and yellow specks floated in its beam. Cobwebs glistened, leaping out of invisibility. Dried leaves and debris crunched under their feet. Kara covered her mouth with her sleeve. A pungent smell of decay wafted from the lower level.

“The smell is rough. Sometimes animals come here to die. Somehow, they find their way in,” Dirk said. “Where we’re going it won’t be as bad.”

She nodded, unable to open her mouth.

They made their way down the stairs. She was mindful of each step, feeling the uneven tiles through her shoes. She imagined a nail piercing the rubber sole and into the flesh of her foot. Dirk would have to carry her while blood flowed out of her shoe. The blood meant for the Lybithians. Her jaw would lock, and Dirk would leave her with the decaying animals on the eastbound platform. She would perish, contributing to the station’s odor. There she would lie     , a body taken      one year too soon. Kara let out a long breath. By the end of the staircase, she had not stepped on a nail.

The platform was a sealed time capsule; the tracks decommissioned during the consolidation projects decades before. Advertisements, curling out of their frames, showed smiling people enjoying cars, or cellphones. Items no longer sold for general consumption.

Dirk jumped off the edge of the platform and onto the tracks. Dirt and dust rose to the height of the boarding area with his impact. A thunk echoed in the station and escaped down the tunnels on either side of him. He lifted his arms towards Kara.

“I’ve got you,” he said.

She crouched and swung her body over the side. As she hung grit embedded itself into her palms and forearms. Dirk grabbed her waist and lowered her to the tracks. His hands were firm.

“How far?” she asked.

“Six stations.”

They traveled the dark twists and turns of the defunct subway without speaking. Drips, Kara decided were water, wet her head. Hidden puddles waterlogged her shoes and socks and her toes shrivelled. Cast by the sharp silence, a buffer of peace surrounded them. Broken from time to time by rats scurrying past, making themselves known with hundreds of tiny paws scratching the hard ground, causing Kara to jump. Anytime they hit a fork in the track, Dirk didn’t need to ponder their direction.

“How long have you been navigating these tunnels?” Kara asked.

“Five years. I ran away at fifteen.”

“You live down here?”

“That’s right. I’m taking you to my community.”

Kara thought of her life above, the O-neg home she’d left four years ago to be an adult for the remainder of her life. The dark nights in the starchy bed, the girls sleeping row upon row, the babies wailing. Sleepless, she’d close her eyes tight and yearn for her blood type to change. She’d repeat the wish over and over until her mind shut down, and sleep came to her without notice. In the morning, she’d wake up to the same bell with the same branding on her wrist, as the same blood type. She had thought about running away before she was twenty, but she could never figure out where to go. Dirk had done it and had found a home. She could do without an expanse above, the tunnels were restrictive in space, yet the years ahead unfurled, rolling to an unseeable distant point, long past where they were meant to be snipped. Kara interlaced her fingers with Dirk’s.

▲▼

Dirk pointed to a pin prick of brightness at the end of the tunnel. “That’s it.”

As they approached, lines of light glinted along each rail, drawing them into the community. Kara’s breathing became heavy, and she squeezed Dirk’s hand.

“Will they take me?” she asked.

“They will.”

The tunnel opened into a station. Whining blynite generators lit strings of lights strung along the ceiling. The platforms on either side of the rails housed tents, tarps, and wooden structures. A ramshackle of homes. Ladders came down from the dwellings to rail level. The burn of stomach acid radiated through her chest and scorched her throat. Could she live here?

“Morris’ offices are in the service repair rooms. That’s where you’ll be admitted,” Dirk said.

“What does admittance entail?”

Dirk put his arm around her shoulder. “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.”

He led her past the station homes to a set of stairs by the tracks. Its iron railing was bent out of shape and rusty abrasions flaked away like dead skin. Dirk skipped up the stairs and knocked three times on the metal door. The door opened and Dirk waved her up.

The room was a grey concrete box. It contained no furniture except for a desk on either side. One light flickered above. At the desks sat Lybithians. They secreted a biting odor of earthy nuts. At the desk to the right the Lybithian’s skin had the same translucent yellow hue as Morris Theo’s painting. To the left the Lybithian was a rich crimson red, as if bathed in blood.

A chill zipped up Kara’s back. She lost control of her muscles as rapid vibrations rippled through her. Her quivering legs gave out, and Dirk caught her before she collapsed. She stared at the Lybithian’s long limbs. She watched the chambers of their hearts beat through their skin, and her throat emitted a croak. Dirk had brought her here to heal the sick yellow Lybithian. He didn’t want to give her a life; he wanted to snatch it away. For what? Money? Immunity? 

The yellow Lybithian rose from its chair. It glided to Kara as if the floor was made of ice. Its steps soundless as a floating feather. Its smooth hand helped her to stand. Its wide blue eyes moved back and forth, studying her face.

“I’m Orlando. I will not harm you. I do not want your blood,” it said.

She croaked again, leaning her weight on Dirk.

“I am ill, but I will not take a life for mine.” It ran its hands through her hair and pressed its spindly fingers into her scalp. A wave of calm washed the shock away.

The red Lybithian stood. 

“As you can see, I have taken a life for mine. I must atone for my mistake. What I thought was my right was not mine to acquire.” It lowered its head. “Forgive me.”

A Lybithian asking for forgiveness? They were the reason humans survived. Revered across the world. What had moved these Lybithians to relinquish their privilege above? What motivated them to harbor the lowest tier of humans to the detriment of their kind? she thought.

“We forgive you, Lennox,” Dirk said.

Kara shook her head. “I don’t understand.” She was standing without support, strength was returning to her body.

“Lennox is very concerned about his existence, especially in front of O-negs,” Orlando said. “They should remember all of the O-negs they have helped.”

“I didn’t know Lybithians could feel remorse,” Kara said.

Lennox came out from behind his desk with the same lithesome motion as Orlando. “The Lybithians who have joined the movement down here are the ones who do. We want to uncouple humans from their blood obligation to us.”

Kara slapped her hands on her thighs, startling the Lybithians. “What? If you aren’t cured, you’ll die, and then we’ll no longer have a blynite source, and we’ll all die. No one wants that. Us humans we get the deal, it sucks, but we get it.”

“We want to find another cure, one not dependent on a full transfusion. Ideally one not involving your blood at all,” Orlando said.

“I’m pretty sure the Lybithians have stated that’s not possible,” Kara said.

“It is. Money and resources just need to be funneled into finding one. As it stands no one cares to fund the research. Most Lybithians enjoy the power they hold over humans, so they don’t feel the need to change the status quo. Humans, on the other hand, are scared that if another cure is found the Lybithians won’t trade their blynite with them,” Lennox said.

“A valid concern,” Kara said.

“Humans shouldn’t worry, we enjoy our access to earth beyond the health benefits,” Orlando said.

Kara crossed her arms. “I assume you want us to see if that’s true.”

“Yes. We’ve already built facilities down here for our research. Our homes are humble, but our labs are state of the art,” Orlando said. “Welcome to our family, Kara.”

 It caressed her shoulders, and the room became brighter. An intoxicating aroma of nuts overpowered her, and she was encased in joy. Dizzy, she sunk into Dirk. “I can’t help any of you. Why did you bring me here?” she asked.

Dirk wrapped his arms around her. “To be my wife.”

A part of Kara, deep inside, screamed, curdling its throat with the effort. It choked. The being’s voice gasped for purchase, muffled by the thick blanket of serenity the yellow Lybithian had given Kara. Visions of the grubby humans at the Lybithians feet pressed upon Kara, her hunger for a home clawing closer to the distraught choking part of her. The part was flayed and silenced. The hunger alone lingered under the surface of her buzz of joy.

“Of course,” Kara said.

“Time to meet Morris.”

Kara gave the Lybithians a sluggish wave goodbye as Dirk guided her out of the room and into the hallway.

▲▼

Morris’ office was as austere as the Lybithians’. His chair sat empty behind a cluttered desk, framed by stacks of papers and books. A painting hung above his seat: Lybithians, blood red, riding unbridled white horses through a rusty golden west. Kara could tell by the style of the painting it was by Morris Theo.

Her eyes widened.

“Yes, we are meeting Theo. He started the movement,” Dirk said. He pulled out one of the chairs in front of the desk and motioned for her to sit before claiming the other.

“Arrival of the Lybithians is the symbol of the agreement. People prostrate themselves in front of it daily,” she said.

A voice came from behind. “Those people don’t understand the intent of my painting.”

Kara whipped her head around. There Morris Theo stood. He was a short man, two heads below Dirk, and yet he held himself in a manner which negated the difference. The space he commanded was twofold of Dirk’s. He had a trimmed white beard, and his hair was thinning, light strands lifted off his head like wisps of smoke. He limped to his desk with the help of a simple wooden cane.

“They accept the image of humanity as a defeated desperate mass saved by the Lybithians,” Morris said.

Kara’s brow knitted. “What should they be seeing?”

Morris sat down in his chair underneath the running horses. “It’s not a matter of should. People will see what they will. It’s out of my hands once I’ve finished a piece. I had hoped the reaction would have been one of disgust, activating a drive to be seen in a better light, to be seen as heroic and powerful.”

Kara examined the painting behind him. Bold Lybithians charging forth.

“Your love for the Lybithians comes through far too much for disgust to be felt. The love can’t be ignored or rejected,” she said. Morris stared at her. “Sir,” she added.

Morris cleared his throat. “I do care for them.” He eyed Dirk. Dirk shifted in his chair. “You brought her here to be your wife?”

Dirk took Kara’s hand. “Yes.”

“O-neg?”

Dirk flipped Kara’s hand over, showing Morris her branding.

“Fertility?”

“Two babies. Correct?” Dirk turned to look at her.

“That’s correct,” she said. The memory of her babies bit her and soon faded into her fog.

Morris tapped his chin. “And you’re comfortable with doing custodial work?”

“That’s fine with me.”

“I don’t see any reason why you shouldn’t be admitted,” Morris said. “As long as you complete your marital duties with Dirk on a regular basis you can stay.”

The screaming Kara within, torn but not defeated, whimpered. She reached out a feeble hand to touch the cloud of hazy bliss above. She was not heard.

“Of course. I understand.” Kara grinned at Dirk.

“Brilliant. Dirk will take you to your tent.”

▲▼

The distinction between day and night was arbitrary in the tunnels. Kara adjusted as best she could. Hours passed in minutes, or minutes passed in hours, and clocks and calendars were the sole references she could use to calibrate her system. The date of her appointment above ground loomed. A dark splotch ahead when she transitioned from playing house to active fugitive.

They tried for a family. On her days off from cleaning the labs, they stayed twisted under the covers, the tent’s dome shielding them from the tunnels outside. Kara gave in to pretending they were in the woods, pines walling them in, protecting them from harsh winds. If she unzipped the tent, she may come face to face with a mountain lion or a      bear, and it was best to settle into Dirk’s tight embrace instead of investigating. A blanket of stars above be damned.

In their tent Kara snuggled in closer to Dirk, resting her head on his shoulder. “I have to get ready for my shift soon,” Kara mumbled.

Dirk swept her hair away from her eyes and kissed her forehead. “You like it here?”

“I do.”

She did but the words were false, as if said by someone other than herself. Stones weighed down her stomach. Her head ached behind her eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Dirk asked.

Her turmoil must have shown on her face.

“I..I...”

Dirk brushed his hand through her hair. “It’s alright. You can tell me.”

Her mouth was dry. “I…I’m concerned. I haven’t seen any children here. I’ve seen a lot of pregnant women but no children. It’s weird.”

Dirk smirked. “Is that all? Morris just permitted pregnancy. Remember, we are a developing community. Having children wasn’t sustainable before. You’ve come during an exciting time.”

He pressed her into his chest.

“I guess so.” She submitted to his hold. Sealed in his arms, all she wanted to do was unzip the tent and tear into her fabricated woods, letting the pine needles scratch her bare skin, never to be seen again.

▲▼

With her mop Kara sloshed the soapy water across the tiled floor of the lab. Pearl, her greying hair shining from the overhead lights, worked at polishing the stainless-steel counters. Kara worked with Pearl daily, and they had grown close. Kara often wondered when Pearl had escaped to the tunnels. Had it been she was twenty-four as well? Kara had no idea if the community was old enough for it to be true.

Kara moved with effort; her limbs bogged down by unseen weights. Though what Dirk had said made sense, spiders in her mind spun webs of doubt, refuting his reason. Pearl, more experienced than herself, might be able to squish the weavers out of existence.

Kara leaned her mop next to her. “How long have you lived in the community?”

“Twenty years. I came when I was twenty-four.” She smiled, soft and warm, like cookies fresh out of the oven.

Kara had been right. Her heart quickened.

“How long have they permitted pregnancy?”

“Since then, at least.” Pearl stopped polishing and bit her lower lip. “I mean, only recently.” She turned her back on Kara and continued her work with added vigor.

Kara rushed to Pearl. She pulled her shoulder back, clutching it like an eagle would its prey. She scrutinized Pearl’s face, lips and cheeks drained of color.

“Tell me where the children are.”

Pearl’s eyes glazed over. “No...there aren’t…I—”

“Tell me.” Kara dug her nails in.

“I can’t.”

“Please, we’ve suffered.” Kara let go of her shoulder. “Please, don’t let me suffer.”

Pearl wiped her red ringed eyes and dewy lashes with her sleeve. She sniffed. “You can’t tell anyone I told you.”

“Promise.”

Pearl brought her face close to Kara’s. Eyes big. Eyes chaotic. She whispered, “If you don’t want to lose another child, leave.”

“Why?”

“They sell them to the O-neg homes. The homes must meet quota, and we need the money to fund our research. Please don’t tell anyone I said anything.” Pearl wiped her eyes again.

A fire ignited in Kara, roaring bright. Dirk was taken into its flames and incinerated to cinders. She stomped on his ashen corpse. She was never going to have a family with him. After he sold their baby, what would she have done? Stayed because she wanted to live? Be like all the other women in the tunnels?

“No,” Kara said.

She dashed out of the lab, smashing the doors wide with her palms. She raced down the tunnels to her home, breath ragged, sweat soaked hair stuck to her face. She would pack up and leave. She would go to her appointment. Fulfill her obligation. She would not submit another child.      

▲▼

Orlando and Lennox were in front of Kara’s tent, blocking the entrance.

“I’m leaving.” She pushed between them.

They reached out their hands and placed their fingers on her scalp.

A whirlpool of images swirled. Morris Theo’s office; time of origin veiled. His painting down, torn and stained with the blood he had never intended to give. These images curled to a point of nonexistence, and black took over.

▲▼

Kara came to in front of an ornate wooden door, gold leafed styles and rails edging its deep red panels. Lennox directed her to take off her shoes before entering the room. She could do nothing but obey. Orlando turned the brass doorknob with his yellow hand. Shimmering iridescent fabrics covered the walls of the room and her feet sunk into a lush red carpet. Orlando and Lennox brought her to the wide bed at the center of the back wall and sat her down. It was adorned with pillows and sheets, woven with silky glimmering threads. Orlando massaged her scalp. Lennox knelt before her and kneaded her feet. Her nerves lit, and warmth coursed through her. She lightened, her bones hollow as a bird's, her skin made of air. She grabbed the bed sheets to stop herself from floating away. The room began to spin and revolved into streaks. Bursts of sparks exploded in her vision, pop, pop, pop, and she fell back onto the soft bed.

The door creaked.

“Is she ready?” Dirk’s voice traveled through a long tunnel and the echo brushed her ear. The sound of Dirk reverberated in her head.

She couldn’t find her mouth to respond. 

“She is,” Orlando said.

The words wrote themselves in a scrawling cursive flashing across her plain. She no longer had a body. White horses thundered past. She was colours splashing up from their clamoring hooves. She was time contorting around mass. She was the universe. She was an expanding void, consuming all for growth. She was Dirk stroking a woman.

▲▼

Kara awoke, alone and naked, tangled in the glossy sheets. She moved her lips and swished her legs in the fabric. She sighed and rested in her body. She was pinned to herself again. A flutter pitter pattered its way along her abdomen.

Life.

They had done it.

A life for the Lybithians. Whether she was above or below, the child was theirs. Her hands cradled her stomach.

In the underground bedroom she screwed her eyes shut and demanded for her blood type to change. She held her breath and clenched her teeth repeating the order to herself over and over. Maybe this time, for this one, it would work. Her lungs ached for fresh air, and she released her breath, panting.

A knock came at the door. 

“I’m here to take you to your tent.”

It was Orlando.

She traced the O seared into her inner wrist several times.

“Coming,” she called back.

She untangled herself from the covers, got dressed, and made the bed. ■

Anna Boyce lives and plays in Toronto, Canada. When she isn’t writing, she can be found curling up with her dog and a book, crafting, puzzling with her partner, or taking long walks by the lake with her twin daughters. She has a BA in Film Studies from Queen’s University.

©Anna Boyce (2026)

Story Cover Artwork ©Martin Wong