Authors: Joseph A. Turkot
She looked down. Against her skin was
the silken fall of her golden dress, the one she’d worn the night she first met
Mick. She was standing in a hall of dancers, under elegant light, stirring with
optimism. There was the scent of flowers, the glow of candles adorning the
walls, the sound of chamber music pouring through each soul.
There in the crowd before her, the mass
of entwined arms, splitting through them, came a dark, handsome man. At first
the face was blurred, unrecognizable. Then, in the next instant, it was Mick:
his eyes full of vigor, hope, luster. He opened his mouth but did not speak;
instead he leant in, breathed against her neck, rubbed his nose along it, and
took her hand. Silently, neither of them able to speak, they waltzed into the
center of the dance hall. All the others vanished. The lights diminished, and after
the gold candles disappeared there was nothing but blackness. And then stars
appeared, filling the ceiling, popping into focus one at a time, then in
clusters. The music carried on but there were no longer any players, no longer
anyone else. She felt his tight muscles, the pull of his arm, the strength of
his back. He moved in close and kissed her. She closed her eyes, just to be
sure it was all real, and then reopened them. When she did, he stood still
before her, the same as before, smiling now.
“I want you to know something,” he said
to her.
“We’ve just met—what could you have to
tell me?” she replied, unaware of the future they shared.
“That I love you,” he said.
“But we—” she said again, but then it
clicked: she remembered who he was: she saw their wedding, the lines of her
white gown and the cheering children; the pastoral scene behind them, and in
front an orange sun setting over waves. She saw the birth of their children,
each one, beautiful, faces that flashed in her mind. The scars materialized—she
realized, staring at this man, what he would put her through. She heard the
screams, the pounding fist, the shattering plates. She closed her eyes.
It
doesn’t matter, does it?
Or should I run?
Run, run!
Something
inside her begged for her to run from him—to depart, to prevent his spell, to
find a different future.
You cannot run. There is no choice. He
is your soul mate. Each part of him. He has already given it to you.
She opened her eyes and Mick was gone, but
she still danced, and someone still held her close, but more tightly than ever
before. She spied the shaggy haired boy before her, his chin whiskerless, his
smile more goofy than ever, but as recognizable as ever: it
was
still
him, he was a child. Looking down, her dress was gone, and she wore the old
blue frock given to her by her aunt that she’d been forced to wear to school
once a week. She hated it. She was ten years old, and so was he.
“What’s happening?”
“I have to say goodbye,” Mick said. “I’m
saying it now, before all of the bad stuff happened. I needed to say it before.
I didn’t know how, but I’m saying it now. Goodbye. I love you. I never meant
for anything bad to happen. I made mistakes, and I wanted to learn from them,
and to make everything right. This is the best I can do.”
His boyish cheeks turned red, as if he
was embarrassed. She didn’t want him to feel that—all she knew was that she
didn’t want him to feel that way.
“But we’re just kids, growing up in a
messed up world. You did what you had to, but you loved us. I know you did.
I’ll always be here, and I’ll always love you.”
“You’re my best friend.”
“Don’t go yet!” she said as he pulled
away. The images of the dance hall started to reform—the players, the music,
the dresses, the food, the flowers, the candles, the excitement and the noise.
She watched the V of his back as he
disappeared into the crowd of dancers. She raced in, excusing herself as she
pushed everyone aside to reach him.
“Mick!” she called, over and over, as the faces around her looked away,
oblivious in their ecstasy.
Send us all. We can make it.
Mick stared at FOD, waiting for a
response, unsure if it would arrive telepathically or aloud.
“Can’t, just won’t work,” he said. Axa came
close to them, leaned in with her tense body.
“I don’t want to die. Please. I never
cared before, never cared. But you got me into this, you brought me out here,
made it so that I do care now. I want to get to Utopia.” She looked into FOD’s
eyes, expecting him to act like a god, to flick the blips off the radar with a
flick of his finger.
“I’m sorry. You’ll never see Utopia.
There is nothing that can be done.”
“Send us all through the fucking
particle transmission!” Mick roared.
He struck at FOD. FOD nearly fell, then
righted himself and stared back, unflinching, affirming with his eyes alone
what he’d already made clear.
“Why not?”
“No .HUM is without a plant, except
yours.”
“It’s worth a shot.”
“No. It’s not a
shot.
It’s
certain torture, painful suffering, for the longest duration imaginable.”
Mick stopped, backed off.
I don’t
understand.
You will. You must do this. If I sent
our .HUMs along with you, the UCA decryption field would reverse the scramble,
intercept everyone but you. Then you’d hear about our fates on the Universe
Media Line. Is that how you’d like to remember this?
Axa went to the cockpit window.
“You must promise me something,” FOD
said.
“Everyone has broken their promises to
me
.
Everyone is asking me to promise
them
something.”
“Promise me you’ll travel here—” FOD
said, and he took out a small screwdriver of plastisteel. Mick looked at it
with confusion.
“What the fuck is that?” Mick asked.
“Hold still,” FOD said, pushing the tip
of the device against the back of Mick’s head. It made a small whine then drove
into his skull.
“Fuck…”
“You have the coordinates memorized now.
When you wake up, there will be a ship. Take it. You’ll need to go to the first
location, get the fuel cell for the G10. The second is my lab—no one will be
able to track you there. You’ll be able to set the ignition time, that will
give you enough time to get back to the T-jump station, which is the last set
of coordinates.”
“You want me to blow the universe
apart?”
“I want you to hit reset. We didn’t work
out.” FOD turned away, he couldn’t watch; the fate of twenty years of activism,
and his final measure of justice, rested in the hands of a foreigner, both of
space and time. “Here,” he continued. He handed Mick the plastic containing all
the UCD he had. “More than enough for your T-jump. More than enough for a
million.”
It’s not the future you want. But it
will be preventable. And in this world, deep down inside, you know he’s right.
It has to be done. Mankind has become a mass generator of suffering for the
sake of ignorant bliss.
FOD interrupted:
We are an
abomination. We do not need to feel shame for what we’ve become, but we have to
take responsibility. Thousands of years have proven we can’t do it. But here we
are. You have one last chance to do it.
I’ll do it.
I knew you would.
Mick wandered down to the hull bay. He
heard Axa scream and run back to meet FOD somewhere near the galley. She yelled
something about the UCA fleet, that it had encircled them.
“She’s all fired up, Mick,” FOD called
over the com.
“Be right there,” he replied. He stepped
down three metal grate stairs, turned around a cargo box, and saw a table.
Spread out on it were chess pieces, brown and tan, made of wood—XJ’s prized
possession. On one side, sitting on a crate, was GR. He clicked, sounded a
series of beeps, and moved his queen into a position to attack XJ’s king.
“Just what I intended, GR. Precisely
what I intended,” XJ hooted. Steam, as if in direct correlation to his glee, spouted
from his neck. He reached hastily for his knight, which GR had neglected to
notice had snaked between his king and queen. “A fork. You must deal with that
GR, if you don’t want to give up.”
“That’s a nasty trick. And you don’t
understand why I won’t play with you? Sometimes I wonder—I wonder if you’re
faking the alzeimagnetism, if you’ve been faking it all along. How else could
you continue to play such shrewd chess?”
“Alzei-nothing. Alzei-nothing, my
friend.” XJ smiled, turned to Mick. “Have a seat Mick.”
“I can’t XJ. I have to go.”
Mick knelt by the board, eye-level with
the droids.
“Are you sure? This will be over in a
moment.”
“I see that. You’re doing a great job.
You know that? Both of you guys.”
“Mick, I am certain there is a lie in
this robot,” GR said. “He claims ignorance one minute, and then, the next, he
is operating at ten trillion processing parameters per millisecond. I just
don’t understand sometimes.”
“Me too,” Mick said. He reached out,
touched the cold steel of XJ’s hand, half-expecting warmth. The cold met his
heat, and they drew closer to each other’s temperature. His other hand extended
to GR. “It’s been really nice getting to know you. I’m sorry I couldn’t get you
where she wanted. I’m sorry I couldn’t make it happen.”
“Mick, don’t be silly. Why, you’re
leaking! GR, get a towel,” XJ ordered.
“No, I’m fine. I am.” He wiped away his
tears.
“Well hurry back then. And tell Sera
we’re waiting for her.”
“I wonder—maybe you
are
on to
something, XJ. Maybe she
is
coming.”
“She’ll be here. And I’ll play you
before I go to sleep, okay?”
“It’s a deal Mick.”
Mick walked away, and already GR started
to bicker about losing his queen.
Clank. Clank.
Clank
.
Mick ascended the stairs.
“Hey Mick—” XJ called.
“Yea?” he turned, wiping his eye before
he was grilled for leaking again.
XJ’s eyes lit up and a stereo recording
played from his head:
“Everybody’s gree-heen, because I’m the one who won
your love.”
“Do you know that song Mick?” XJ asked.
“You had it on when you told me what
year it was. I didn’t believe you, did I?”
“No you didn’t.
The Beatles,
Mick. They’re called
The Beatles.
”
“I’ll have to look them up.”
FOD appeared in the hall. “Now or never.
Come on.”
Mick walked past the infirmary station into a small
chamber with a head-mounted display. He put it on after FOD’s instruction.
“This won’t hurt a bit,” said FOD.
Mick looked down at his hands, his arms,
his legs. To his side was a cabinet panel; he peered into his reflection,
gazing for the last time at his own body. A dark, hairy, haggard face stared
back. The look was exhaustion.
How could hope still burn in that face?
“Occupying a cellbot is just like what
you’re already used to, nothing will be awkward or strange, you’ll just look
different. You’ll be a little stronger. A lot stronger.”
A siren sounded from the cabin.
“That’ll be five thousand meters,” he
said calmly.
He’s so unafraid of death, even in the
face of not knowing if everything he’s worked for will even happen.
You’re right. I am unafraid. Do you know
the reason I spout ancient poetry, as you call it?
No—why?
Because it was the closest to self-truth
man ever came. Today, it is gone. Replaced by the invisible force.
Mick watched Axa lie flat on the metal
floor of the corridor, eyes closed, arms over her head. Turbulence rocked the
ship.