Yesterday’s Tomorrow

“We’re getting another one.” He hit the record button before she had to tell him to.

She sighed. “All right.”

“Flight Control, Awahou. We’re still nominal.” Sometimes they came in awash in static, stretched out slower or compressed faster, chopped up into bits and pieces; this one was oddly normal, like it was coming from a few miles away. “Drive system seems to have settled in after that first hiccup.”

“Gotta be from early on in the test flight.”

“God, Earl, just turn off the speaker. I don’t want to listen to it. Just turn off the speaker and forward the recording like you’re supposed to.”

“What, I’m interested. I don’t think I’ve heard this one before. Might be something new in it.”

“You signed a paper, Earl, it’s—”

“Oh, they don’t really care about that after all this time. Come on.” He took a sip of his drink. “Just a bit of history, isn’t it?”

“Preparing to ramp up to full power now. Having trouble hearing your replies, Flight Control. Almost sounded like the countdown there a second ago.”

“Time got weird for them too. See, that’s new, we didn’t know that.”

“Here we go, Flight Control. Full power…”

Restore From Backup

“Do you still remember how to play?”

He turned his face towards her, cocked his head, stared, then turned back and pushed down another key.

Does he even understand me? There was enough flash memory to hold him, at least after the hurried hardware upgrade, but the CPU was still a small one. “Do you remember the Debussy? Or the Stravinsky… ‘The Five Fingers?’

He turned, stared at her again.

“I know, you don’t have enough fingers now.”

He leapt from the edge of the keyboard into the air, flapped his wings, circled the room twice before finally alighting on the windowsill. He didn’t seem to be concerned with the outside, but rather with his own reflection.

“It was the only thing I had anywhere near ready. I’ll have to build a new chassis for you, call in Rémy to do the skin and hair, it’ll take some time.” She tapped the keyboard so the screen would wake, revealing design plans already begun. “Weeks, maybe?”

He didn’t look at the computer. After a moment, he flew back to the piano, slowly pushed down a key, then another.

“I wonder if, when you’re a man again, you’ll remember how to fly.”

Attrition

He was standing at attention, but staring down at the floor, lost in thought. He hadn’t heard his name.

The General repeated, “Lieutenant Asche.”

“Ma’am.”

“I’m told that you were the only member of your unit to reach your objective, and single-handedly destroyed it. You must be very proud.” She turned to take the medal box from her aide-de-camp.

“I suppose so, Ma’am.”

“You suppose so?” She looked amused as she pulled the award from its box, smoothed out the ribbon, prepared to hang it around his neck. “Why wouldn’t you be proud?”

He opened his mouth, paused, said nothing.

“Out with it, Lieutenant.”

“It was… the target was a crèche, General. A Woolie crèche.” He couldn’t meet her eyes as he spoke. “No military value at all. Just… babies.”

“Woolies gestate twice as fast as humans, did you know that, Lieutenant Asche? And they’re four times as likely to bear multiples.” She stepped a bit closer, placed the ribbon over his head and around his neck, speaking quietly. “If we’re going to win this thing, we’ve got to do what’s necessary. It’s a numbers game, Lieutenant.”

She winked, stepped back, saluted him smartly, moved on to the next soldier.

Drink Up, Dreamers

“It’s halfway up the landing legs now.”

She stared out the viewport. The only part of the colony still visible, ironically, was the flattened metal bulb of the water tower. All the gravel paths, the prefab housing, the crops, the animal pens… “We landed on a hill.”

“Yes we did. But it’s halfway up the legs anyway. About four four more feet and it’s at the bottom of the engine cones. If we’re going to lift off it’s gotta be now.”

“How much fuel do we have loaded? How far can we—”

“There’s enough for the computer to get us to the high ground to the East. After that… dunno.” He got a faraway look in his eye. “We’d have to dry out and repair the ISPP unit. Tanks should still be good, unless they get damaged by debris while they’re underwater. Then it’s a matter of getting the fuel to the new landing site. We’d have to mount the spare tank on one of the caterpillar chassis. Lot of work.”

She rubbed her eyes. “Let’s get everyone strapped in.”

“Burt and Maise are still unaccounted for, we—”

“If they’re still alive, they’ll see us. Strap in. We’re taking off.”

The Old Brookville Store

“I swear to you, as sure as I’m standing here, it’s still there.” The man’s finger rested on the map, halfway down a side road none of them knew. “Little mom-and-pop grocery, even has a pump around the side. Used to fill up there sometimes when my wife forgot to get gas—”

“And it hasn’t been hit?”

“Only the locals really know it’s there. And they’re all dead,” he sputtered out a nervous laugh, “or undead.”

“Why aren’t you holed up in there right now, if it’s so well-stocked?”

“It’s a fishbowl.” His eyes darted around, found no comprehension on their faces. “Glass front. I’ve seen them push in big windows like that, shatter ‘em just on pressure alone.”

“All right.”

“Anyway, I’m alone. No gun. I can’t fight, all I can do is run. If there’s one in there, or more than one, what would I do about it? But you fellas, you—”

“Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re waiting here, handcuffed. A couple of my guys are going to recon the place. If everything checks out, you get to stay, and you get a share of the haul. If you’re lying — and I mean, about anything — you’re dead.”

Static

“How long now?” Mays didn’t wear a watch, with screens on every wall and ELLE to kick him out of bed before every shift.

“Three hours overdue,” came her voice, from all speakers including his subcutaneous earbud. “We have sent numerous hails in the clear on all bands: no response. Company policy is—”

“I know what company policy is.” He flipped the primer switches up, and started the intermix injectors running.

Rebbo, at his shoulder, rumbled: “Where will you begin searching?”

“They were coming from Fwalbach. At least that’s what Dixie said: they had a big-money contract from Fwalbach to Zunnis, that’s why they could afford to meet us here.”

“We are to wait a further two hours in the absence of a distress signal,” Elle said. “I have contacted Corporate, and they are monitoring the situation. Search action will likely be approved, in two—”

“We’re going now.” Mays pushed the ship’s nose over to point at the pale blue gas giant’s horizon and lit the reaction drive.

“The Company—”

“Dixie rescued us before that moon broke up under us. We owe her.”

“The fine may approach the entirety of your share in—”

“Nuts.”

Just in his earbud: “…I agree.”

The Last Of The New Amsterdam Vampires

I went on to California, then Seattle and finally Portland. I can blend in among the eccentrics and the hipsters and the nut jobs without a second’s thought. Coral stayed in Nebraska, in that little town, where she stuck out like black tar heroin on a candy tray. She never gave me a straight answer why, past: “I’m tired of moving around.”

That was what, ten years ago?

I’ve put out feelers, from time to time; she’s answered none. I hear from Rocky, often, always when he needs something. I heard from Wen only once, before she faded into the great Chinese interior from whence she’d originally come. Maybe she’ll come back out again, someday. She knows what to say in the Times Personals if she wants to find me. So does Coral. I wonder who they’ll be, who they will have become, when and if they do.

Maybe they’re already dust. I don’t know. I oscillate between caring and not, between wondering if they still exist and forgetting they ever existed, that we were ever a family.

I could make a new one, drain them and feed them and wait for them to violently wake. But there’s still time.

Containment Protocol

You have to return safely. It is our only concern.

"I'm sick," he said, followed by a cough that spattered tiny droplets of spittle across the inside of his faceplate.

You are not 'sick', you are in symbiosis with us.

"That's what 'sick' means in this context. You know what I'm saying. Don't act like… You've got to understand: I can't go back like this, I can't. I can't take you back."

There is no other option. If you do not execute the re-entry burn, you will miss the atmosphere, you will be flung into a widely elliptical orbit. You will starve and die and we will die with you.

They were right. He entered numbers into the flight computer, armed the retrorockets, set the timer.

Your numbers are incorrect.

"They aren't," he coughed again, a racking cough carrying a moan, full of desperate exhaustion. "I have a Doctorate."

The Command Module will enter the atmosphere at too steep an angle, and burn up. We will die before we reach the ground.

"That's the idea." Earth was a looming mural in the window. "They might try to recover the body if we end up in orbit. Can't take the chance."

Composed En Route

You're dead now.

The kids, too, and their kids. The computer says three hundred years will have passed on Earth, even though it's only a couple months by ship's clock; you'll never read this, it's way too late. Plus there's no way to send it,  not until we're almost to our destination and the ship turns around to begin the deceleration burn. So I guess I'm not writing this message for you, I'm writing it for me.

You wanted a divorce, because you had to go on with your life, and I understood, and I gave it to you, even though I was still the same man you married, the man you fell in love with. I wanted this shot, always had, more than anything else I've ever wanted, and I couldn't take you with me, and that hurt you, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't give up my dream to give you yours.

And I'm sorry for leaving the kids. I hope they had long, happy lives, and families of their own, and didn't forget their crazy, selfish, astronaut dad.I'll never forget you. I Love you. I forgive you. I hope you forgave me, by the end.

Sleeper

"I hope you're comfortable." It was a lie, a platitude worn as a disguise by utter contempt. "You're going to be here a while."

She said nothing; she restrained herself from looking around nervously. There would have been nothing to see: an empty box of a room with a single door and a large wall mirror behind which was undoubtedly a camera.

"We need your help with some things."

"What things?"

"The names of other members of your organization, the—"

"What organization?"

"How you communicate with them, where their money comes from, that sort of thing. And how you beat the lie detector."

"I don't belong to the Snows. I don't know anyone who does." She forced herself to stay calm, to speak in normal, measured, even tones. "You're wasting your time."

"We know that's not true. You're caught, and you can't talk your way out of it." He sat down opposite her, shrugged. "Talking is your only hope."

"I can't help you." She couldn't answer his questions, because the answers were buried deep behind an activation phrase no one had said yet.

He stared at her, then: "I guess it's going to have to be the hard way, then."

Deep Listening

"What," came Rebbo's voice over the suit radio, "is this dreadful noise I am listening to?"

"Music. I'm playing music from the library computer over the open comm circuit. Too loud?"

"It is confusing."

"Con—" Mays pulled up his core-sample tool, leaned on it, turned to look across the frozen surface of the moonlet to where Rebbo was working nearer the ship. "You don't have music? Your people?"

"We have music. It soothes, calms. It aids in slipping into the trancelike state we use to allow subconscious problem-solving." There was a pause. "This music seems designed for exactly the opposite."

"It's mostly for dancing. You know, dancing?"

"I have seen it done."

"You want I should turn it off? Maybe switch to a different playlist? There's classical, and… the ambient/minimalist category is probably more your speed."

"I do not wish to interrupt your enjoyment if it is assisting you in your work."

"It's fine. ELLE, play the man some Eno. Or something like that."

"Music For Airports, volumes one through four. Album mode."

Mays continued his work, taking more samples before heading back to the ship. He found Rebbo sitting cross-legged at the base of the ship's ladder, fast asleep.

Nursie Dear

"Are you comfortable?" Her voice was female, her chassis was human-shaped enough to be comforting while falling outside the 'uncanny valley'. "Can I get you anything?"

His voice was a whisper buried in loose gravel. "…Has anyone called?"

"No, I'm sorry. Is there someone I can call for you? Someone you want to see? I can ask them to—"

"No, no. I thought, maybe… but, no." He winced, shifted his weight, trying unsuccessfully to redistribute the pain.

She turned to the monitor display, took in all the information at a glance, and then began adjusting the life-support array, a little more here, a little less there, an increase of dosage, a decrease in light level. She reached for another control, but stopped, as if pausing to remember something, but stayed frozen there, a sudden statue.

"What is it?"

She didn't respond. He realized the low hum that usually came and went with her was gone.

"Broken down?" He coughed a wracking spasm, turning his head into the pillow until it was done. "Ran out of juice?"

The call button was out of his reach; in an emergency, she was supposed to hit it.

"Here I was sure I'd go first."

Teachable Moment

Vacuum cementing. That's what it's called. Vacuum cementing.

When I was a kid, my mother used to pick me up after school every day. Always at the same time, always at the same spot, a smile and a wave, leaning over to push the door open for me, asking me about my day. Then one Tuesday afternoon she got a flat tire and couldn't get dad on the phone; I sat for an hour, panicked, alone, wondering if I'd ever see home again. It's the things you take absolutely for granted that, when they fail, can absolutely ruin you.

Doors are like that. You open a door, you go through; you think nothing of it. If it's locked, you use a key. If you have no key, you knock, and someone lets you in. If no one's home, no big deal, you come back later.

In space, the air is inside and you need to get inside with it before your tanks run dry, and there's no coming back later. If the hatch doesn't work, because the parts have cold-welded together, you are well and truly fucked.

Anyway, I'm attached to the umbilical. Come get the body when you can.

The Last Of The Garden Parties.

They walked outside, glasses in hand, shoes long-since removed and lined up along the baseboard and forgotten, and looked up into a dusky sky. Somewhere up there was a ten-mile-wide minivan-shaped chunk of nickel-iron tumbling its way towards the end of all human civilization. Someone asked, "Anybody see it?"

No one answered. Howard fished a phone out of his jeans pocket and stared down at it for a bit. "It's on the other side of the planet right now. Nothing to see."

They didn't go back inside; they milled around with their toes in the grass and made small talk about friends and family.

Howard sat down in the grass; eventually he laid down in it. At some point, as the stars twisted slowly above him, he realized Francesca was laying next to him. "Hi."

"Hi."

"So, what if it misses?"

"It won't."

"But how do you know?"

"Because… because math. It's gonna hit."

She made a face as if she'd been holding out hope, even this late. "I always hated math. Hated the teachers, they all thought it was so easy."

"Sure."

"Wanna go inside? Upstairs, I mean?"

He considered it carefully. "I wouldn't want to miss the show."

Identity

"I collected sheep."

He moved the pillow from over his head and strained to see her in the darkened basement. "What?"

She was out of her cot, standing, peering up out of one of the little head-height windows, watching zombie feet and ankles shuffle by. Her voice was quiet, almost a whisper. "I collected sheep, little plastic toy ones, pewter ones, cartoony, photo-realistic, whatever. I had, like, four hundred of them, probably. They're lined up on shelves in the living room. Out where people can see them."

He rubbed his eyes, yawned. "Okay."

"I was so proud of them. Like, it was a neat thing about me. 'Oh, Missy's the girl who has the sheep thing going on'."

"Nothing wrong with that, I guess."

"Everything's wrong with that. All that money, all that time. I used to go to craft shows, just to look for sheep. I scoured the internet. What did it get me?"

"A lot of sheep?" She didn't respond. He offered, "I collected Lego guys for a while. But I guess I was pretty young."

"I wish I could get back over there to the house," she said. "I'd break every last one of the damn things."

Against Future Emergency

"We don't go back here much. Very leaky, you know, especially in spring. A lot of water…"

I nodded, having barely heard him over the  blood rushing in my ears. The brickwork was different, older than the rest of the church, larger bricks and a different color. The floor was of cut stone slabs, expertly fitted.

"Can't say I understand why it's suddenly so important. Lots of these old churches sit on Roman foundations."

"Roman," I echoed, nodding. I came out of my reverie long enough to continue, "I'll be a while, sorry. No need to keep you from your work."

"As you like, Professor. I'll be seeing to the graveyard leaves if I'm needed." He trudged back up the steps into the upper, modern section of basement.

I'd seen it almost immediately, having known what to look for: the stone to press, the one with the mechanism behind it, but I waited until I heard the leaf-blower noise from outside. When the wall slid back and then aside, my flashlight played across a furnished room clear of cobwebs and damp.

An armored figure sitting within looked up and regarded me at his leisure, and then asked, "I am needed?"

The200: "The Archean"

"It's hot. Hotter than the projections." He cycled to the next data set on his arm-screen. "And the atmosphere's an unbreathable soup. Suit's staying on."

"Well, we figured that."

"You're coming through fairly clear." He turned around: the portal was shrunk to a tiny glowing speck, but it was still there. All those briefings, and all the classes, and he still had no idea how the technology worked. Or, why it worked. "Unbelievable."

"What?"

"Three and a half billion years. Oop…" He steadied himself. "There's some ground movement there. And I'm seeing volcanic activity."

"Nearby?"

"No, far off. Horizon. Big plumes of smoke. Whole place looks more like Io than home. Let me try to get to higher ground and I can—"

"Negative. Stay on primary task. We want the pools."

"There's one about ten feet away, stand by." He clambered across a ridge of slick rock, placing his boots and hands with methodical care. "Here we go. I'm taking out the sample tool, but…"

"What?"

"There's a film across the top of the water. Looks organic. It's well in progress here already."

There was a long pause. "Understood. Return to the portal. We'll just have to go back further."