And I did it for years. My eightieth birthday came and went, and my trainer and doctors told me I should stop. I told them all to go to hell. We hired a new trainer. I fired her, and we hired yet another.
But they were right. I was not capable of climbing the Blue Arrow to Lumley Hill.
And so Peter stepped in. At that time, SouthPacificNet employed a hundred engineers, with another three hundred contracted for specific jobs at any given time. Kembalimo had become a global phenomenon, but ironically it generated no revenue because Peter insisted on offering it for free. But the company’s other products ranged from inventory-tracking software to satellite phones and were quite lucrative. Peter pulled a handful of engineers from current duties, paired them up with some of the world’s leading prosthetics engineers, and tasked them with designing a robotic exoskeleton customized to assist my body from my hips to my feet. It was a marvel of electromechanical implementation. Even more impressive was its use of neural control signals and extraction of intent. It understood my intent at a time when it seemed many of the real people in my life didn’t.
After another five months of grueling, painful therapy and training with the exoskeleton, I could competently climb multiple flights of stairs. I vowed to use the monstrous device on our forty-second Yonks Day and then never set eyes on it again.
Fortunately, the trail was dry and rain was not forecasted. The exoskeleton was actually fairly sleek, and if it weren’t for the heat I could have pulled loose jogging pants on over it. But still, as I extracted myself from our van, I felt like a cyborg. A handful of hikers stopped what they were doing and came closer to observe. Peter’s security gals simply asked them to abstain from taking photos or video. I blocked them out and forced my mind to command my will. My exoskeleton responded, and I walked to the trailhead.
“Good luck, ma’am!”
The voice had come from my left, and I turned and smiled at a much younger woman who had kind eyes.
I hadn’t seen the trail in six years. It now seemed more menacing, dotted with protruding rocks and roots. It was a gauntlet of hazards. I took a few steps and then hesitated. Buzzing, clacking cicadas. A heady aroma of damp soil and dry eucalyptus. Leaves whispering in the wind. Noisy pitta birds calling, ‘walk-to-work.’ And Peter right behind me, laden with a pack containing prawn salad and fritters.
Servomotors whirred, pneumatic lift rods contracted, metal and muscle worked as one for the next four hours, until finally I stood at the top of Lumley Hill.
My world changed seven months later on a cool, windy night in July at 1:14 AM. That’s when a call came in on Peter’s smartphone. It was his corporate office. He answered the call and after a few seconds abruptly sat up in bed. He then got up and left the bedroom.
I was nearly asleep again when he came back. He sat on the edge of the bed and turned on his lamp. A tear streaked one of his cheeks.
“It’s been found, Rose—the Lamotelokhai.”
I sat up, which was a painful process. “What?”
“Americans. On a plane that crashed in the bush. Survivors found the hidden village.”
I turned on the light on my side of the bed and blinked a few times.
He let out a laugh, nothing more than a huff. “A boy called me. Only fourteen! And then I talked to his teacher. The boy is a Kembalimo user.” His tears were flowing freely now.
“And he could communicate with it?”
He nodded. “Because of Kembalimo—our Kembalimo—he could talk to it. And the tribesmen allowed the Americans to take it with them. They took it to the United States, Rose! The boy knew our company had created Kembalimo, so he tracked me down. He mentioned the word ‘Lamotelokhai’ to one of our people, which prompted her to call me immediately.” Peter spoke like he was trying to convince himself it had really happened.
I put my hand on his. “I don’t even know what to say.”
He wiped his cheeks. “The boy was able to talk to it because of Kembalimo.” He then shook his head. “All those years.”
I was happy for Peter, but a wave of uncertainty washed over me. I had no idea what this really meant. “I’m sorry I ever doubted you,” I said.
He smiled. “There were times I started to doubt it myself.”
“So, what’s next?”
He shook his head. “Hard to say. They asked for my help. It seems they are in some kind of trouble. They’re trying to avoid American government officials because they fear it might be used in ways that are harmful.”
“Do you think it’s dangerous?”
“In the wrong hands, maybe. I know it’s like nothing the world has seen before. They want to arrange a live media event to inform everyone about it. They need my help to do that.” He looked at me intently. “I’m going to help.”
I held his gaze. “This is starting to scare me.”
He got up and paced. “If the entire world knows it exists, no government can hide it away and do God-knows-what with it. There’s logic to that, right?”
“Do you want me to answer that, or—”
“It’s something that should belong to the entire human species.”
“It was found in Indonesian Papua. Doesn’t it belong to Indo—”
“That doesn’t matter. It didn’t originate there.”
I watched him pace for a moment. “You still believe that?”
“It’s true! It’s always been true. Forty-four years ago, the Lamotelokhai put a dream into my head. Somehow. I don’t know how. I saw the planet it came from, where it was created. And in this last week I’ve had two more dreams. After forty-four years! They were vivid dreams, Rose, more than just dreams. So I’ve suspected something important might be happening.”
I felt my chest starting to tighten. “In the last week? And you didn’t tell me?”
I think he finally sensed my growing alarm. He sat on the bed again. “I didn’t tell you because you’ve never taken the extraterrestrial idea seriously. And I don’t blame you for that.” He put a hand on his chest. “But I’ve seen it.”
“When were you going to tell me?”
“Now! I’m telling you now. Because of what’s happening. And I’m glad it’s happening. Because now you don’t have to…” He trailed off awkwardly.
“Now I don’t have to die?”
He looked me directly in the eye. “Yes.”
“You still want this thing to fix me, don’t you?”
“I’m trying to save you, Rose!”
I sighed loudly. “People grow old and die. That’s the way it is.”
“Perhaps that’s about to change.”
I grunted and shifted painfully in the bed. I wanted to jump up and shake him by the shoulders and demand that he understand what it was I had always needed from him. But my body was no longer capable of doing that.
“Why?” I asked. “Why don’t you want me to die?”
He furrowed his brows. “What?”
“Is it for you? Or is it for me?”
He shook his head, bewildered.
I took a deep breath. It seemed as if the last fifty years were spiraling down into this one moment. “I need to know this. I need an honest answer. But listen to me first. I’ve always loved you. But I’ve had time to realize certain things.”
Peter brought one knee up onto the bed, settling in to listen. The gesture didn’t reduce my agitation.
I went on. “I know you’ve lived through every year I have. But your body hasn’t changed. Your mind hasn’t started to fail, as mine has. I get it—you are superior to me.” He started to protest, but I held up a finger to stop him. “You love me. You tell me so every day. You dote on me, make sure I’m comfortable. If there’s something I need or want, you have someone design and make it for me. You’ve given me a life most women could only dream of. But I think, fundamentally, I’m different from you. I’m here for me. I want what you give to me. Not just financial security, but everything else. I’m here because you kiss me every morning. You remember my birthd
ay and Yonks Day, and you make them memorable. You have made me part of your Kembalimo project, even though I’ve been more of a hindrance, believing you might be quite mad. I’m here because I’m happy when I’m with you. My passion for you is so primal it frightens me. You see, Peter, I’m here for me.”
He gripped my hand. “Rose—”
“I’m not finished. Peter, I’m an observer of people, did you know that about me?”
Wisely, he didn’t respond to this.
“I’ve observed countless people, especially couples. I know what makes people feel secure or insecure in their relationships. I can see it in their expressions and hear it in their words. You know what I’ve observed? People feel more secure when their partner has less money than they do, or when their partner is less attractive. Nine times out of ten, if you see a man with a more attractive woman, it’s because he has some other quality that makes him feel secure. Perhaps he’s a sports star or celebrity.” I nodded toward Peter. “Perhaps he’s a CEO of a company.”
He couldn’t stay quiet any longer. “You don’t think women do the same thing?”
“Of course they do. I’m just saying it happens more often with men, because our society favors wealth in men. But my point is that the scale is usually balanced. A man with wealth feels secure with a woman who does not have as much wealth. And that woman happens to be more attractive than the man, in turn making her feel secure. But look at me, Peter. What do I have to offer you that could make me feel secure?”
He shook his head like he was disappointed in me. “You think I would leave you or cheat on you?”
“No! You wouldn’t, because you’re a devoted husband who wants his wife to be happy. But are you devoted to me because of a burning, life-sustaining need within you? Perhaps that was true at one time, but is it true now?”
Peter gazed at me without expression.
“I know where this is going,” I said. “You’ll help those Americans. And then you’ll try to figure out a way to take that object created on some far-away planet you saw in your dreams—that Lamotelokhai—and have it do something to me. Because you want to fix me. But I don’t want to be fixed, my love. Not now. When you first encountered it, you were forty-one. As a result, your body remained in that state. But I’m not forty-one, I’m eighty-three. Perhaps the Lamotelokhai could put a hold on my aging. But that wouldn’t make me the woman I once was. You will never think of me the way you once did.”
He started to speak, but I cut him off.
“I’ve had a wonderful life with you, Peter. But now it is time I did something for you, rather than for myself. I’m ready to let go.”
7
Yonks Day – Year 51 – 2028
It is commonly said that time passes more quickly as you grow older, and I used to think so. But the last nine years have changed my thinking on this. So much has happened that I now partition my life into two parts: the years before Peter got that phone call, and the years after. I think many other people of this world would agree.
I was up before sunrise and did my stretches. Relatively little pain from my hip. Good, considering the busy day I had planned. I entered the kitchen and heated some porridge the old-fashioned way. I pulled milk and fruit from the fridge. Then I realized there was no butter. That would not do. I slammed the fridge shut.
“Romulus! Where are you?”
A moment later I heard soft thumping approaching from the back rooms of the house. Romulus skidded to a stop on the tile floor. A tree kangaroo, or at least he was made to look like one. I have no idea what he is really made of. He eats and bleeds, but he isn’t a real animal. Most people call them roobots, and everyone has one now. It would be foolish not to.
“We’re out of butter,” I said.
Romulus took a standing jump and landed on the table next to my porridge. Roobots are about the size of housecats and just as agile. He scratched at his belly with a clawed paw and suddenly pushed the paw right through the skin into his abdomen. The paw came back out holding a chunk of glistening flesh. I closed my eyes for a moment and shook my head. Someday, someone should program the damn things to generate materials in a more visually appealing way. But within seconds, the chunk of flesh faded to gray and then more gradually transformed into about a dessert spoon of butter.
“Go on, drop it in the bowl.”
The butter plopped onto the porridge and began to melt. I scratched the back of his head. “Thanks, love. I’m going to need my pain meds today. Do you mind?”
Romulus started to scratch his belly again.
“You don’t have to make them. I have some in the bathroom.”
He hopped to the floor and bounded off to the bathroom. The pain pills are the only meds I take now. Disease and disorders may be prevented, but that doesn’t mean I don’t get sore hiking the Blue Arrow track.
After breakfast I changed into the blouse and hiking shorts I had carefully prepared the night before. I paused to stare at myself in the mirror, something I rarely do, but this day was exceptional. I’m ninety-two, but I stopped aging nine years ago so the face of an eighty-three-year-old woman stared back at me. Granted, I am a young eighty-three. Age spots are gone. Skin is fairly tight, but not without wrinkles. Silver hair. Eyes that sparkle but don’t hide a lifetime of experiences. I could pass for a healthy seventy, but no one would doubt me if I told them my real age. Not any more.
I slung a small pack onto my shoulders and walked north on the Esplanade with Romulus at my heels. I walked past my shop—my own beach shop—without going in. The girls could handle things, and I didn’t want to get distracted. Mount Whitfield Park is five kilometers from the house, an hour’s walk. I quickly got into a rhythm, enjoying the sensation of my powered titanium endoskeleton working in tandem with the bone and muscle it is fused to. Whereas my exoskeleton of nine years past was an imposing monstrosity, my new endoskeleton is not even visible to onlookers. Its structure is formed in the exact size and shape of the original bones it has replaced, including its embedded lamotelofiber tendons and forever-powered nano-motors. It provides a powered boost when I need it, and it forces me to work enough to stay fit.
I don’t mind that certain parts of me have been modified. And I don’t mind that the Lamotelokhai’s mysterious particles have halted my aging, in spite of what I had told Peter nine years ago. In fact, sometimes I wish it had happened much earlier. I am ninety-two, living in a body that stopped aging at eighty-three. If the artifact had been found when I was sixty, I would have stopped aging at sixty. For that matter, if only I had gone with Peter on his adventure to New Guinea when we were both forty-one…
But of course that’s not what happened.
The pleasant weather apparently had enticed others to Mount Whitfield. When I started up the Red Arrow track, numerous hikers and runners were coming and going, many of them followed by roobots paired to their physiological systems, monitoring their conditions and needs.
The Red Arrow was a breeze. The Blue Arrow tested my joints and endoskeleton. But I was damned determined. Because it was Yonks Day. Because it was this particular Yonks Day. Halfway around the Blue Arrow circuit, I paused to watch a nearly silent helicopter pass over me just above the treetops. I sighed and shook my head. Shortly after that, a steep side trail took me up twenty-five more meters in altitude to the top of Lumley Hill.
A crowd of people had gathered there. A few were curious hikers. Others were friends, some who looked like they could not have walked there without help. Powered endoskeletons, I suppose, although none of them had ever mentioned they’d had one installed. I stood up as straight as I could and walked to the center of the gathering, careful to avoid kicking anyone’s roobot.
I stopped when I was at Peter’s side.
“You’re only slightly late, Mrs. I-want-to-do-everything-by-myself Wooley.”
I patted my thigh. “I’m in tip-top shape, Mr. I’m-too-busy-to-walk-so-drop-me-off-with-a-helicopter Wooley.”
For a moment, we stared
out at the view of north Cairns and the blue-green water of the Coral Sea. But the crowd’s presence made it hard to relax, so we faced each other and joined hands. It was to be a renewal, and we had opted to do our vows without an officiant, so we could start the ceremony whenever we wanted. I was to go first, and I was ready.
“Peter, when we first joined hearts and hands sixty-three years ago, we did not know where life would take us. You promised to love, honor, and cherish me through all things. Our life together has brought both wonderful blessings and difficult challenges. But here you are today, having fulfilled your original vows in wondrous ways I could never have imagined. I have loved you always, and I have always needed you. Much more than you have needed me, I fear. Ninety-two years have passed since you and I entered this world, only months apart. Due to a wondrous and somewhat cruel miracle, the people here today see a man of forty-one years and a woman of eighty-three years. What they don’t see are two minds that have together experienced the wonders of every day that has passed, growing ever more intertwined and attuned.
“Peter, as you reflect back over all the years as my husband, do you now wish to reaffirm the vows you took sixty-three years ago?”
He smiled. “Yes, Rose, I do.”
“Then I will love, honor, and cherish you forever,” I said. I then eagerly waited.
He gripped my hands tighter. “Rose, on our wedding day those many years ago, I made a choice. I chose you to be my wife. I thought then that such a decision, once made, was final and irrevocable. Now I know that choosing a life partner is not a one-time decision but an ongoing process. Many times in the years since, I have chosen you again. As you have chosen me. A marriage lasts only so long as both partners desire each other above all others.”
Peter took a small step closer to me.
“On our wedding day, and in the sixty-three years since, I made promises. Some of them I kept, some I did not. But today is a new beginning. My vows to you are based upon something you have taught me. It is something I could never have learned on my own. You taught me that love and compassion are not one and the same. Compassion is when we devote ourselves to helping others because we want them to be healthy and happy. Love involves compassion, but love is much more internal. Love is when a person has a deep and undeniable need to be with another. So there is an element of love that is self-serving. In fact, it is the most powerful element. Oddly, we are often taught to mask this element, as it is construed as selfish. But you, Rose, have always seen it for what it is, and you have taught me to open my eyes to it.
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