Future Days Anthology, page 17
part #1 of The Days Series
“You think running away is the answer?” She’d stood there, hands on her hips, giving me the stink-eye.
“You always talk about how much you hate the system.” I’d shrugged. “We can get away. Start again, new.”
“Haven’t you been listening? Jose, Michel, the other people in the group--we want to make a difference.”
“Against this?” I walked over to the window and swept my arm in a vague gesture intended to take in the chokingly thick agglomeration of buildings below. “How?”
“It isn’t easy.” The admission came reluctantly, as if pulled from her. “People need to want change. But if we can convince them –”
“Sure.” I’d laughed, then. “They’ll give up their privilege, happily, for the good of--what? The rules are made now. They know what to expect. They figure they’ll just wait their turn and hope for the best.”
“We need to try.” Her lips quirked downward. “Besides, there are my parents. My brothers and my sister. Nieces. Nephews. I don’t want to leave them behind.” She frowned. “Don’t family connections mean anything to you?”
Thinking about my parents choked me up, like it usually did, so I went on the attack.
“I worked a ton of overtime to buy these,” I’d said, nodding toward the tickets. “I’m in a job I hate, and with the unemployment levels here, there’s no hope of getting a different one. I need a fresh start.”
“Make it without me.” Danielle had jumped to her feet and stormed out through the door, slamming it behind her.
✽✽✽
Despite the emotions stirred by that memory, I remain dry-eyed. Maybe Danielle’s right. I do have my emotional armor. For the first time, I ponder what it must be like to be on the other side of that.
I finish the last of the butter chicken and rise to my feet to put the pouch in the chute of the gleaming repurposer.
Danielle’s decision leaves me with another problem, and I allow my subconscious to chew on it while I reach into the freezer for an ice cream sandwich.
Fact is, tickets are sold in pairs for a reason. Experience gained through the first of the colonies in our own solar system demonstrated that the mental health of those who settle new planets remains more robust when they have a social support system. In accordance with regulations, the ship’s security staff won’t let me board without a declared companion.
I stare out the window for a while, letting my mind drift.
Finally, I arrive at a possible solution. It just might work, I tell myself. There’s one way to find out.
✽✽✽
When I ring the doorbell at 224 Partridge Lane the next morning, Sonja pauses before opening it.
“You’re early,” she says, her voice resigned. She’s wearing faded blue jeans and a royal blue zip-up hoodie that’s fraying at the end of the sleeves. In her right hand, I can see the familiar buff-hued options list delineating all the ways she can choose to die with dignity. The paper trembles ever so slightly as she holds it out in my direction.
“Didn’t know if I would find you in,” I reply as I take the paper, trying to conceal my alarm at her appearance.
“I got dressed for my volunteer stint at the animal shelter but ended up just sitting here.” Sonja’s eyes appear glazed, and she stares straight ahead. “Doesn’t seem to be much point anymore, does there?” she asks. “Going out, I mean. Doing anything.”
“Listen,” I tell her. “There’s something I didn’t mention to you before. It’s not really my job to do it, you understand, but--” I draw a breath. What if she says no? Summoning my courage, I blurt, “You could take one of the colony ships.”
“I thought of that,” she says. “But--leave Earth? I don’t think I can do it.”
“If you volunteer to go, your name will come off the list.”
“But my children and grandchildren,” she protests. “And great-grandchildren”.”
“Under the other…scenario,” I pick my words carefully, as though choosing a path down a treacherous scree-covered hill, “they, uh – well, put it this way. If you take the colonization gig, they can look at the stars, knowing you’re out there somewhere. As technology advances, maybe they’ll even come and visit you some day. If you don’t –”
“But I need a partner, don’t I?” she says, her voice trembling.
“’You can be mine,” I reply. “I have a pair of tickets for the New Nova. It leaves for Degna in twenty-two days.”
“That’s very generous.”
“Not really,” I confess. “Someone backed out on me.”
“You okay?” The concern in her voice sounds genuine.
I nod. As okay as I’ll ever be, considering.
“What’s to guarantee humans won’t make the same mistakes?” she whispers.
“No guarantees,” I admit. “But we get the chance to try.”
“Will there be a moon?” she asks.
“Two,” I reply. “And a mauve sky.”
“Purple was my favorite color, as a child,” she says. After staring out the front window for several long moments, she turns to face me, her expression brightening. “I always did think I was too busy to die.”
“Don’t put it that way,” I say, reaching out to place a comforting hand on her upper arm. “Tell yourself, instead, you have too much to offer.”
“Thank you.” She grips my hand warmly. “But why the extra effort?”
“You remind me of someone,” I say, trying to keep my voice from cracking with emotion. It’s true. I see a ghost, a hint, of my mother’s smile on her face as I turn away.
✽✽✽
During the next few days, I keep my mask firmly in place, forcing myself not to engage emotionally with any of my other clients. Instead, I focus on Sonja, and the second chance she’s gained thanks to me. I’ve done something good for a change, I tell myself, almost singing the words.
And then, when I’m shooting the breeze with Gravinski in the lunch room, the call comes.
I can feel the blood drain from my face, and Gravinski must see it, too, because she stands up at the same time I do.
“My dad,” I tell her, turning to leave.
“Hey,” she says, placing a hand on my arm. “Don’t tell the brass. Just let me cover for you. I could use the extra cash.”
I stare at her for a long moment.
“Thanks, Gravinski.” I hand her my comm device, nod tersely, then stride out the door.
✽✽✽
“Almost there,” the person seated to my left tells me, gesturing toward the window.
I glance out the small rectangular pane to my right. I remember my mother telling me about the first time she landed at Halifax Airport. The plane flew so low going over the trees that she’d braced herself for a crash landing. The forests have yielded way to houses, acres and acres of them, but with the hover-jet, we don’t have to fly as low before landing as those old 747’s used to.
The hover-jet decelerates, and I glance down to see a long, low building surrounded by what looks like bull’s-eyes. The pilot, or the computer, or maybe both guide us down to a perfect landing on one of the pads. There’s a smattering of applause; spurred by relief, I suppose, although there’s little need for fear of flying--it’s been a decade, at least, since the last hover-jet accident.
“Going to check out the sights?” the lady beside me asks as the seatbelt sign winks off.
“Maybe,” I reply, more out of politeness than anything else. Truth is, I have little desire to see what changes the pressures of ever-increasing population have wrought upon my favorite haunts – the Public Gardens, Point Pleasant Park, Lawrencetown Beach. “I’m here to visit my dad.”
“Well, have fun,” she says, her voice bright.
Fun, I think, pausing as I pull my lightweight overnight bag down from the compartment. Somehow, I doubt it.
✽✽✽
He’s gotten thinner. That’s the first thing I think when I enter the no-grav room where my dad, whose nerve endings have become so sensitive that any contact is pure torment, hovers, grinning despite everything.
“Hey, kiddo,” he says. “Great to see you.”
“You too,” I reply mechanically. I reach out to hug him, remember his condition, and instead sit beside him, cross-legged, floating in the air.
“Has its compensations, huh?” he asks, indicating the room and its gravity-defying features with a wave of his hand.
“Yeah”,” I reply, unable to repress a smile. I glance around the room, then down at the floor above which we’re suspended. Visiting Dad always brings home, with a vengeance, one of the biggest contradictions in our society. If your number hasn’t come up, hospitals will go to any lengths to keep you alive. On the other hand, every day the Callers go out to conduct their grim harvest. But what’s the alternative? Letting people die when you could save them? I shrug. I’m here to visit, not to philosophize.
I realize my Dad’s been staring at me, and offer an apology, which he shakes off.
“Planning to stay awhile?” he asks. As usual, I’ve brought along a light backpack with a couple of crossword books, some water, and snacks.
“Sure,” I reply.
“I appreciate it-- I really do,” he says, his voice turning solemn. “But I called you here because there’s something I want to tell you before--”
“Dad,” I say, choking on the word.
“It’s time.” His voice is gentle, but firm. “Coming here gave me a good five years, and I’m grateful for that. But the disease has progressed, and there’s nothing more they can do. I’ve elected to choose to go, before the pain becomes totally unbearable.” He clears his throat. “It’ll be quick, from what I hear.”
“Oh, Dad.”
We sit in silence for a moment. I turn my head, so he won’t see my face. When I’ve regained command over my emotions, I swivel my head and look him in the eye.
Accepting that as a signal, he clears his throat. “Because this is our last conversation, ’I’m going to tell you something I’ve been constrained to keep secret since your Mom –” He stops, and this time he’s the one who needs to struggle to maintain composure.
I sit up straighter.
“I know why you went into your current line of business,” he says when he feels ready, “and I don’t blame you. But the truth is, your mother volunteered.”
I stare at him, disbelieving.
“The number that came up wasn’t hers,” he whispers. “It was yours. She went in your place.”
Now I do cry in earnest, the tears streaming down uncontrollably, then drifting into the room, where they create a salty mist.
“I know,” he says, his tone urgent now. “But listen. The reason I’m telling you this is, she would have wanted you to enjoy your life. Do you understand? The opportunity for you to live, to make choices, it came at a price. Respect that.”
A wave of anger washes over me. “Why keep it a secret?” The words grate harshly.
“It was part of the agreement.” He leans back. “Think about it. They couldn’t let that sort of thing be common knowledge. Otherwise, every child whose parent got Called back then would think –”
My heart feels so heavy, it’s dragging my body down. I look around and realize Dad, too, is getting lower.
Then I see the nurse in brightly patterned scrubs who’s appeared on the other side of the glass. She’s manipulating the controls, ratcheting up gravity incrementally, so that we don’t crash to the ground like a ton of bricks.
“You don’t have to stay with me,” Dad says, squaring his shoulders as we touch down. “If it’s too hard –”
Too hard. In the light of what he’s told me about Mom, it feels like nothing. “I’ll be there. Holding your hand.”
And I do, until his breathing stops – though I have difficulty seeing for sure, since my vision’s gone blurry again. The nurse puts a hand on my shoulder, telling me he’s gone.
I stagger out of the room, down the corridor, and into the dazzling sunlight.
✽✽✽
Back in my apartment three days later, I check the digital readout on the wall. Six hours until my approved bereavement leave ends.
I swing out of bed, pad into the living room, and put my remaining ticket for the New Nova in my wallet. Liftoff’s getting closer, and somehow, I feel nervous if I don’t keep it with me, as though it might vaporize of its own accord.
My jaw tightens. Between my Dad’s passing, and the memories of my mother that seem to surround me all the time now, my nerves feel raw. The last thing I feel like is going to work. But there are still a couple of weeks before the ship departs, and I can use the money. Colonists need a lot of supplies, and they don’t come free.
Suck it up, I tell myself when it’s time to leave for the office.
Once I arrive, I order up a coffee from the insta-dispenser in the common room.
Gravinski strides in, looking so downcast that I almost turn to go, but she sees me and beckons me over as she slumps into one of the plasta-form seats.
“Can you beat that?” she asks, her voice hollow as she stares at the wall.
“What?” I ask, easing myself into the chair opposite her.
Her gaze falls on my face, and she struggles to focus. “I was saving to buy tickets on one of the colony liners, for my mom and me. That’s why I’ve been such a hound about overtime. But now she’s gone and gotten a ticket herself.”
“Go figure,” I say, feeling my heart pound against my ribs. “Uh--is her last name Gravinski?” I know how idiotic that might sound, but I need to hear the answer.
“No, it’s Bronston,” she says, frowning slightly. “She remarried. Why?”
“Long story,” I reply.
She slumps in her chair, and I glance at the digital clock on the west wall. Still ten minutes till the start of my shift.
Who am I trying to kid? There’s no connection, really, between Sonja and me. Sure, she’s volunteered to be my companion, but I’m not sure that’s really going to work all that well for either of us.
Besides, I’ve got unfinished business here.
“Look.” Even though I’ve made my mind up, it’s hard, still, to put into words. “I bought tickets for Danielle and me to go to Degna on the New Nova, but after she broke up with me--I’ve lost the heart for it.” My hands tremble a little--just a little--as I draw the ticket out of my wallet. When I extend the ticket in her direction, Gravinski is forced to tug a little to get me to release it.
I see her lips move as she reads the information. She runs her fingers over the ticket’s glossy surface as though affirming its reality.
“Then you’re coming too?” She shoots me a glance.
I shake my head.
“What’d you do with the other ticket?”
“Lost it in a poker game.”
“Not surprised. You’re a lousy poker player. You don’t have the face for it.” She shoots me a searching look, then grins. “Wait till I tell her,” she says, jumping to her feet with an animation I’ve never seen in her. “Here”.” She presses a credit-chip card into my hand.
I shake my head. She closes my fingers over it.
“Listen, Justine,” she says. “You’re not cut out for this.” She jerks her head in a gesture that takes in the room, with its dismal layer of faded green-gray paint. “Use it to go back to school, or re-establish yourself somewhere. Something. Just get out of here. Promise?”
✽✽✽
After I give the ticket away, my concentration’s shot. I alternate between asking myself What have I done? and Now what? I don’t have a good answer for either question.
When I call on a home with two individuals with the same first and last name, and I start my spiel with the one who’s clearly the younger of the two, I realize it’s time to quit before I make an error that’ll harm someone other than myself. I return to the office and turn in my badge, taking a certain satisfaction in doing so. Then I spend the rest of the day wandering the streets of New Toronto. I hop on the subway, get off at a random station, and order a coffee.
That gives me time to think. When I finish, I start walking again, with greater purpose this time.
When Danielle opens the door to her apartment, she glances behind her.
She’s got someone here, I tell myself. I lower my head. “It’s okay. I’ll just go.”
“Don’t.” I dare, then, to look up. Danielle’s posture remains rigid, and her expression doesn’t contain a hint of anything I might mistake for welcome. “It’s just--I’ve been packing.”
“Moving again?” I school my features to maintain a neutral expression.
Danielle gestures with her arm, inviting me in, then closes the door behind us. “I meant to come and say goodbye. I really did. Just hadn’t gotten to it.”
“I’m not going on the New Nova.” I keep my voice flat, non-committal.
“Because of me?” She crosses her arms.
“Someone else needed the tickets more than I did.” True, but that’s not all. “And I missed you. So yeah, a little bit because of you.”
Her eyes widen, then narrow, and I can guess what she’s thinking: why would I, who always stayed so deliberately detached from everything, stick my neck out for someone else?
“Look, you were right about – lots of things.” My voice trails off, and I stop, suddenly exhausted. “It just took me time to realize it. After my Dad –”
“What happened to your Dad?” She places a hand on my arm, peering into my face, and I remember, with a stab of pain, how much she enjoyed his satirical sense of humor when we used to visit him.
“He’s gone,” I whisper.
As though she doesn’t trust herself to speak, Danielle hugs me for a long moment. When she finally breaks the silence, her voice trembles as she says, “I’ll make you a cup of tea.”
✽✽✽
When I wake up, I stare at the ceiling. It takes me a few moments to realize I’m not in my own apartment. I glance around, frowning, and spot Danielle in the kitchen. I let my hand run over the surface of the quilt covering me, and glance down. It’s a handmade patchwork that her mother made. It used to have a prominent spot in the place we shared. Seeing it here makes me feel both melancholy, and at home.
