Treachery
Page 17
as the ship turned, then stopped as another passenger ship became visible out the window. The other passenger ship appeared to grow larger as they approached.
Satisfied, Father headed toward the airlock gate.
Timothy and Iris headed him off and stood to block the way. He stood and stared out the window at the other approaching ship, as if his wife and children did not exist.
Mother continued pleading. “This is a whole new—everything is new! Everything could be different! Nobody we know, a whole new universe to discover, how many years was that, we never even stopped to consider the math for that stupid bitches' muttering—it's been like five thousand years since our last conversation! Do you believe nothing? Do you believe none of this?! All of this talk about change and repenting, and your son courageously confronts you with facts it seems you'd rather die than reveal, and look, none of us here have killed you!”
Father's tone had an even menace. “Step away from the inner airlock.”
Timothy and Iris did not move.
Father walked around them, toggled a lever, entered a password, and toggled another lever. The inner airlock unsealed.
“I'm sure you realize this is breach of safety protocol,” said Timothy. “You don't open the inner airlock wall until the loading area is secured.”
“Breach, shmeach,” said Father.
Iris couldn't help herself, and laughed. “How poetic, Father.”
Father walked beyond the inner airlock wall and toggled a lever on the other side. The wall closed to seal him in. His wife and children watched through the thick airlock glass. He stood and faced the outer airlock wall, and waited.
Timothy toggled a lever, entered a password, and toggled another lever.
“What are you doing?” said Mother.
“Saving our lives.”
Mother shoved him away from the controls. “No!”
“Mother, he's right. There's no time.” Iris wrestled back Mother.
“NO!”
Timothy regained the controls, entered a password, toggled another lever, and entered another password, as Mother howled her protest and threw Iris against the inner airlock wall. Father heard it, and glanced back. Mother reached for Timothy again. Iris summoned all her strength and wrestled Mother against the airlock wall.
“What?” said Father, though the movements of his lips could only be seen and not heard, by Timothy.
Timothy pointed to the unloading area in the airlock, and clearly enunciated the words so that Father could see, without mistaking them. “They will kill you. They will kill us. Or I will kill you.”
Father laughed. “No,” he replied. He shook his head and rolled his eyes, then turned and stood still again, calmly, to face the outer airlock wall.
Mother broke free from Iris, and wrestled Timothy back, and Iris wrestled Mother away. Timothy toggled a final lever, and the outer airlock wall jumped open. Illuminated by the floodlight outside the airlock, Father was sucked out with the air which escaped into the vacuum.
Mother screamed. Iris wept.
The momentum ejected Father toward the other ship. He gracefully turned in mid-vacuum and slammed onto the hull of the other ship's loading hatch, found and grabbed a handle on it, and pounded on the hatch to make noise.
“WHAT?!” shouted Timothy, as he toggled a lever which shut the outer airlock wall. “DON'T DO A THING!” he ordered to Mother and Iris, his hand in a fist with his index finger pointed upward.
He toggled a lever that opened the inner airlock wall—air rushed into the airlock and sucked him in with it—he toggled a lever which closed the inner airlock, found the end of a cable secured to the wall, clipped the cable end to his belt loop, drew a deep breath, exhaled, and opened the outer airlock wall. The escaped air ejected him toward Father.
The hatch of the other ship opened, and the Maiden clambered out, apparently undisturbed by anything. She secured herself to the hatch, and took father's Hand.
Timothy planted his feet in her face, and the impact threw her back into her ship's airlock, where she violently slammed against her ship's inner airlock wall, and apparently screamed and cursed in outrage.
The safety cord snapped taught while Timothy was halfway into the other ship's airlock, and rebounded him with great force in the reverse direction. On the way out he grabbed father, to pull him back on a journey into their own ship's airlock, where Timothy gracefully maneuvered from the wall back down to the floor, and dealt three violent blows to Father's face with one fist, which threw Father down on the floor. Timothy sealed it with a strong kick to Father's gut, then closed the outer airlock wall, and opened the inner wall. Air rushed so quickly into the airlock it almost pulled Mother and Iris into it.
Father and Timothy gasped for air. Timothy dragged him inside, lay him on the ground, and closed the inner airlock wall. Then, he dealt one more violent blow with his fist to Father's face.
“NEVER again! What was THAT—” he spitefully gestured out past the airlock chamber— “Have you ever been with another woman?!”
Father shook his head “No.”
“Do you swear that you will never do this again?!”
Father nodded “Yes.”
“Good,” said Timothy, and pointed to Father's bleeding lip. “He needs an ice pack.”
As Mother hurried to the kitchen, Timothy continued. “Father, you were about to kill us. They would hijack our ship and kill us or do God-knows-what. Those are robots, or I-don't-know-what. There's no time to prove that, but I just know. How? Let's see. Let's start with the bolt-on tits.”
Mother returned with an ice pack, and Father took it and held it to his lip as his wife and daughter carefully led him to a sofa in the living room, where he lay down.
Timothy crossed back to the control panel and worked some controls. Words appeared on the console:
Then the words disappeared. “How many years has language intertwined with high technology, and we still get it wrong?” commented Timothy.
Mother wept, and held Father. He held her tightly. “I forgive you,” she said.
“Lord help me,” he whispered, and broke down in quiet sobs.
Iris, overcome, stumbled to her knees at another sofa, and took up silent prayer.
“You need serious intervention, Father,” said Timothy. “Far more than this.”
“Okay,” said Father, as a hail signal sounded. Timothy ignored it.
“Father?” said Iris.
“Yes love,” he replied.
“You know, you could answer me that way too,” interrupted Timothy.
“Okay,” said Father.
Iris continued: “You forget the simple things. We need the simple things.”
“Okay,” said Father.
Mother whispered in his ear: “I think the Lord is helping you.”
The hail signal sounded again. Timothy switched on the visual intercom. The Maiden was there, emotionless.
Timothy leveled a demand. “Prove to me that you're human, or caring or sentient or anything that wasn't fabricated, manufactured, or made by anyone other than God.”
“Or what?”
“My Father didn't even have a fighting chance with you. I don't know what you were going to do with him, but something deep inside me tells me you were going to more or less eat him alive.”
The Maiden smiled.
Timothy leveled accusation. “You were human. But you've become something else. Unfortunately for you, the laws from my century are rather incompatible with yours. Or have you all worked out how vengeance crimes of passion work out between people and monsters from different centuries? Was any learning about any of that included in your evolution? Will anyone who cares enough about you even be around to argue the case?”
The Maiden looked fearful. “Just what exactly are you saying?”
He stared her down with a slowly burning fury. “If you believe in God, it is now time for you to pray to him for mercy.”
“Timothy,” implored Father.
Tim
othy ignored Father, and still spoke to the Maiden. “Because you have lost all claims to mercy from me. I can't even bother to make it painless. If you even feel pain.” He switched off the visual intercom.
“Timothy!” said Father. “I know,” replied Timothy, and he pressed a large, red button that said:
“I noticed,” continued Timothy. “Their ship is retrofitted with weaponry.”
A rapid cacophony of hollow, deep, loud, metallic THUDS rattled the ship.
“I'm glad you're back, Pop,” said Timothy. “And I think this is your call.”
“You call it,” said Father.
“Battle stations,” said Timothy.
THE END
AUTHOR'S GREETING