Future Days Anthology, page 9
part #1 of The Days Series
The outer hatch opened, and we went out. Kurt and I both linked ends of our respective cables to the bow hard-point and looked down – technically “out” – at the damaged portion of the Shield. Sri had programmed in a schematic overlay in our helmet HUDs to show us where we needed to go. We pushed off towards the target, lines spooling out behind us. Small jets allowed attitude adjustment to get us to the shattered edge of the Shield.
“Your vectors look good, but hurry, guys.” Sri’s voice was taut. “Structural stability is being strained beyond tolerances.”
“Knox going to send us some help, or what?”
“They’ve scrambled all teams, but if we don’t do something, they’re gonna get here just in time to watch it all go down the well.”
Great, no fucking pressure.
I made contact with the broken Shield edge, and latched my line on before I bounced away, taking the shock with my arms to do so. A few seconds behind me, Kurt did the same, handling it well for a newb. This time I gave him the thumbs-up.
Sri chimed in. “Hang on, guys, I’m applying thrust now to stop the Shield drift. It should give you a boost to push off with; you’ll be heading for the other side of the break.” The heads-up display of my suit overlay painted the new target location for us to jump towards.
“You ready, S... I mean, Kurt?”
“Yeah, boss. I mean, this is awesome!”
I looked around at the damage and the open space all around. Awesome? Maybe in the Old Testament sense of the word, but he sounds like a kid at an arcade. “Okay, we’re going to head for that junction that Sri’s set up. On three. One. Two. Thr...”
“Hey, Slade? Can you see all the amazing stars?”
Johnny’s voice broke in. “Chief, I’m watching his indicators and he’s hypoxic again.”
Shit, that’s what’s wrong with him – euphoria! I thought about our headaches, and wondered about the rumor Kurt had ventured about Knox fucking with our oxy. “I can’t afford to have him out here like this, and if you don’t get him back quickly, he could die. Johnny, get your suit on and reel him in.”
Silence. Then: “You sure you can handle this on your own, boss?”
No, asshole, but what choice do I have? “Don’t make me ask again.”
“On it.”
Out of my peripheral vision, I saw Kurt push off the structure suddenly, hands reaching out. “It’s like I can almost touch them, yanno?”
I was about to go grab him when Sri’s voice came over the radio, a strange hush in it. “Slade.”
“Yeah?”
“We’ve got incoming tracks. Debris: a lot of it!”
I looked around, but couldn’t see anything. Idiot, of course you can’t! “Johnny?”
“I’m out, boss. I’ll reel in the kid, you take care of business.”
Then my suit alarm blared, and I almost went into full panic mode until I saw that it was because I was breathing too fast. Everything else seemed okay.
Sri’s voice, tight. “Boss, you need to go. Like, now!”
I did, aiming for where the schematic overlay indicated. The thrust I’d felt as the pod was towing the broken section of the Shield went away, and I concentrated on taking slow, steady breaths in the zero-g. “Okay, tell me what the deal on the incoming is.”
“It’s our garbage.”
“What? But they’re always tracking that, moving the Shield when...”
Sri interrupted. “It’s not the main mass of it. Station telemetry is telling me that something perturbed the orbit of a sizable chunk – some gravitational anomaly nobody accounted for. The station people are freaked out. I’m hearing that the big science brain types downstairs are tossing theories around like chips at a blackjack table.”
I fired my jets to slow and correct my angle of approach. “Take care of Kurt.” I made contact, and immediately began hooking my cable to the broken structure. “And get me what’s still incoming while I rig this thing!”
“I’ve got the kid,” Johnny interrupted. “He’s unconscious but alive.”
“Well, get him inside if you want to keep both of you that way,” Sri snapped at him. His voice changed, went cold. “Boss, get back here. Get back here now.”
Shit. I looked over the damaged area and my gut felt hollow. If I didn’t get the edges of the Shield secured... “Doesn’t look like it’s in the cards.”
Sri didn’t answer at first, and when he did his voice was low and fast, almost a hiss. “But there’s more debris on the way, boss!”
There didn’t seem to be much point in answering. You just do your job, Slade. For Earth. For your girls, who need a world worth living in. I worked fast but sure, making certain not to fumble anything, and got the winch Johnny had cobbled together off my suit. It took only a moment to get it hooked it in place and get it started up.
Then the superstructure of the Shield jerked suddenly, and my shoulder and neck took the strain of the sudden change in direction and velocity. Shitshitshit but that hurts...! Only long practice biting down on curses during my prison term working the Shield kept me from screaming it out over the radio link for everyone, including Knox, to hear. Then I was spinning, the blood rushing to and from my head with each move to the point I thought I might pass out. “What...what hap...?”
Sri’s voice came over the radio. “You did it, boss! The cable’s holding, but you got to get outta there fast. Hit full jets: direction doesn’t matter! We’ll come get you, but you have to...”
Something took a swipe at me. A sharp pain in my leg eclipsed everything to that point. My grip was torn away from the cable, and I had a moment to panic about being lost in space before I blacked out, thankful for that small mercy.
✽✽✽
“...Come in. For God’s sake, Slade, come in!”
When I opened my eyes, the view was dizzying: sun, stars, Earth. Then I realized that the dizzy feeling was blood rushing to and away from my head as I cartwheeled through space. “Sri?”
“Thank God! Slade, are you all right?”
The spin was playing havoc with me, and I couldn’t feel my right leg. “Not so hot.” I nearly blacked out again, but swallowed, fighting it. “My leg...”
Sri interrupted. “Yeah, sorry, boss, but it was holed, and the suit sealed the breach automatically, amputating it. But shut up about that for a minute, ‘cause this is really important: I need to know about your jets: they online?”
A quick check showed them to be nonfunctional. “They’re worse off than me. You’re going to have to come get me.”
He didn’t answer immediately. Shit. “You can’t.”
“I’m sorry, Slade. We don’t have the reaction mass left for the delta-v to get to you.”
“How...?” I had to lick my lips. “How long?”
Johnny’s voice came back over the speaker, and he sounded tired. “Long enough to take your downers, boss.”
Shit. He meant the high-powered tranquilizers among the suit’s emergency meds. I’m not going to make it.
“Slade, this is Knox. I want you to know that your actions were directly responsible for saving the Shield. I know I speak for all of humanity when I say that your sacrifice...”
I shut off my radio and listened to the quiet instead.
I thought of my girls and how I’d never see them again, but that maybe – just maybe – I’d done something that would help make their lives better.
Earth got progressively closer. I thought about taking the downers before I’d hit atmo: I really did.
But then I wouldn’t be able to say goodbye.
I love you, Megan and Jessica.
Daddy’s finally coming home.
###
About David M. Hoenig
DAVID IS A SPLIT CLASS writer/academic surgeon with several cat-familiars and a wife. He tries to follow Monty Python's advice by always looking on the bright side of life and has only needed to be rescued by the Judean Peoples Front on rare occasions. He’s published in numerous anthologies and magazines, including Grim Dark Magazine, Cast of Wonders, and others.
Connect with David here: www.castrumpress.com/david-m-hoenig
A Winter’s Day
EDWARD AHERN
Peter turned to the serviceman from Sub-Zero Cooling. They were standing next to Peter’s converted garage.
“That’ll be twenty-four fifty for the overhaul. Just set your finger here for the transfer.”
Peter winced. “So much? Last time it was only around fourteen hundred dollars.”
The Sub-Zero rep shrugged. “Last repair was ten years ago, and you admitted you haven’t run the refrigeration unit since then. Things get clogged and rusty.”
It wasn’t his money, but Peter hated to spend that much for four days of use. “You’ve checked the insulation in the garage? No leakage? And it’ll handle an outside temperature up to eighty Celsius?”
“No problem, Mr. Kessler. The original install was forty years ago, but we’ve replaced just about everything except the framing. Couldn’t help noticing the inside. Responsive artwork, interactive internet, voice-activated hospital bed, height-adjusting toilet. Nice.”
“Thanks.”
Peter applied his fingerprint payment and hustled back into their house. The outside temperature had sagged into minus five Celsius, and his hands were already numb. Alison met him at their back door.
“Unit up and running?”
“Yeah, now we just agonize until Rob’s arrival.”
“Nobody’s coming. Sarah holoed. Says she’s committed to a seminar in California, but I think she just hates meeting her brother. Roberto’s still in the nursing home, so his brother and sister aren’t coming. What really hurts is that Eunice and Preston aren’t coming either, so even our kids will be missing at Christmas.”
“What excuses did they offer?”
“Does it matter, Peter? Rob’s a nightmare for the grandkids. I know we rely on what he pays us, and I know he’s your cousin, but I just can’t warm to an ethanol popsicle.”
Peter stared at the refrigerator calendar, so he wouldn’t have to see Alison’s expression. December twenty-second. Rob would arrive early on Christmas Eve. Peter worked up a crooked smile. “We’ve talked this to death. What he pays me to administer his affairs keeps us afloat. And we only put up with him once a decade.”
“It’s been forty years’ worth of decades, Peter. He’s still thirty-three, and you’re already seventy-four. God forbid you should die between now and eighty-four. What would I do? I couldn’t handle things.”
Peter admitted to himself that she was right. “Okay. Once he’s out of the cryonics facility and been shipped over here, once he’s had a chance to acclimate, I’ll ask him to switch to institutional resurrection. The kids are long gone, we can hopefully get by on what we have.”
Alison stepped over and hugged him. “Thank you. It’s like having Lazarus as a roommate and wondering when the miracle’s going to wear off.”
✽✽✽
The cryonics facility called the next morning. “Mr. Kessler?”
“Yes.” Confirmed Peter
“This is Teresa Richardson at the Ever-Young Preservation Facility. Your cousin, Rob Tomasso, has been successfully revived. He’s being acclimated with internal and external solvents so that his body can handle up to minus ten Celsius. Is your accommodation ready?”
“Yes.” Responded Peter in the affirmative.
“Our representative will be at your house at eleven a.m. as scheduled, to inspect your system and maintain it during the visit. Is it running?” Asked Richardson.
“Yes,” Answered Peter, “And the plastic tunnel is set to be hooked up to your delivery vehicle.”
“Excellent. I’m required to remind you that despite the low temperatures, his internal solvents are highly flammable, so no open flames or equipment that might spark.” Warned Richardson
“Yes, I know. How does he look?” Asked Peter
“Ah, I haven’t actually seen him, Mr. Kessler,” Said Richardson, “But his records indicate full consciousness and only minute dermal frostbite.”
“And his nutrition?” Peter continued.
“Mixed and ready to be injected into his permanent IVs. Our technician will be bringing them with her.” Confirmed Richardson.
“Thank you, I’ll be waiting.” Peter hung up and again marveled at alcohol-based life. If the sun burns out, he thought, Rob will be able to go outside for a walk.
Carolyn the technician hovered in the next morning. After three hours, she closed her checklist. “Serviceable,” she pronounced. “We can proceed.”
As Carolyn left, Peter felt a tinge of regret. If she’d flunked his juiced-up garage, there would be no visit.
✽✽✽
The Porta-Patient flew in three minutes early on Christmas Eve morning. Peter had been waiting outside in his thermal suit, scarfed, hooded, and gloved. Alison waited alongside him.
A woman disembarked and walked towards Peter. “Mr. Kessler?”
“Yes?” Replied Peter.
“I’m Eliza. Mr. Tomasso’s had his breakfast injection, and shouldn’t need to be fed again until one p.m. If you could please show me your power grid, I’ll set up the data display and monitors.”
“Is he cheerful?” Asked Peter.
“We don’t interact with our transports, Mr. Kessler,” Eliza said in a mildly admonishing tone. “So, I can’t tell you about his emotional state.”
“Of course. I just meant...” Peter’s voice wavered before hardening. “Never mind.”
Once the passage had been hooked up, Rob stepped out of the container and through the passage to the garage. The plastic was translucent, and Peter got distorted views of an attenuated biped moving toward its lair. Five minutes after the container left, Eliza let him in through the double doors of the temperature adjustment chamber.
“Hello, Rob,” he said.
“Peter.” The voice was slushy, like Rob’s lungs were full of ice crystals.
They shook hands, Peter’s thick glove almost hiding Rob’s bare hand. Over time, Rob’s skin had turned clear. Peter could see blue blood vessels and ropy muscles.
Eliza keyed the intercom. “Mr. Tomasso? If you need something, please just buzz me. I sleep from eleven p.m. to six a.m., but if you need me during that time, just ring and I’ll be suited up and ready in ten minutes.”
“Thank you, Eliza.”
Peter chimed in. “Everything’s set up for you, Rob. The computer has the condensed world and national histories for the last ten years. The usual interactive internet. The holo projector is set up, but cable television finally died a few years ago, so just feed programming from your devices onto the big screen.” Peter realized he sounded nervous and stopped talking.
“Is everyone already here?”
“It’s just Alison and me again this decade.”
Rob looked down. “What happened?”
“Well, Rebecca’s husband still doesn’t want her visiting her ex. Roberto’s in a nursing home now, heavily sedated because of his manic attacks. Sarah says she has to stay in California because of a teaching seminar. And our kids need to spend the holidays with their kids. I’ve arranged a holoconference the day after Christmas.”
“So, nobody. Sorry, nobody except you and Alison.”
“She’ll conference with us when I feed you this evening. Do you need to rest up?”
Rob smiled, his lips tinged gray-brown rather than pink. “I think I’ve had plenty of that. You know that when I’m dormant there’s no breathing, no heartbeat. But I dream. Not happily. Ten years of bad dreams. It’s like files rasping my skin until it’s ground off.”
Peter wanted to sit down, but knew the cold would seep through his insulated pants. “I’ve provided a copy of your living estate account in a folder labeled ‘Revenues and Expenditures, 2060-2070’.”
“Thanks. My auditors provided a summary before I left the center. You’ve been a faithful steward. How’s your health, Peter?”
Peter hesitated, then guessed that Rob would’ve had that audited as well. “Pretty good, except for a heart attack. They had to put in a couple self-monitoring stents. I’m okay now.”
Just then, the refrigeration fan shut down. They waited in uncomfortable silence for several seconds; then the backup generator kicked in and the fan started whirring again. The intercom clicked, and Eliza’s voice came in. “Gentlemen, the refrigeration motor has shut down. I don’t know why yet. The solar back-up generator will keep your unit refrigerated to a safe level, but there’s not enough power available to use your exterior comm devices. I’ve shut them down as a precaution. Please bear with me while I investigate the problem.”
They stared at each other. Being locked in made Peter feel colder, much colder. Because of sparking dangers, he had no battery-operated heating elements, and unlike Rob, he was going to progressively lose warmth.
Peter let out a nervous laugh. “I knew I should have put a chess set in here.”
“That’s all right, Peter, I have both too much time and too little. Tell me about Roberto.”
“Not much to tell that you haven’t already viewed. Your brother’s fantasy trilogies sold quite well for some years, but a few years ago he developed clinical euphoria and had to be moved to a facility. He’s not taking our calls, but sent a hologram regretting not being able to come.”
“And he’s seventy-six – no, no, wait, seventy-seven. And Sarah, what’s she doing?”
“Well, you were still active when she married the ex-priest. She buried him six years ago. She’s still working, teaching half days at a Japanese school. We exchange Christmas selfies, not much more contact than that,” Peter admitted.
Rob reached over and touched Peter’s shoulder. “Peter, you’re my hold-fast while I’m awake, and my source of unfiltered truth. Please tell me what’s really happening with the family.”
Peter hesitated. The truth was unfriendly, brutal. But it burst out.
“They are avoiding you. Their big brothers morphed into something they don’t know. You look and act differently now. You have memories, and they have lives. They’re afraid of you; they loved who you were and not what you are.”
