World Enough (And Time)

by Edmund Jorgensen

  Sean himself was about Jeremiah’s age, with shoulder length black hair, a jutting jaw, and a sharp upper lip that resembled a turtle’s. His big arms—big with both muscle and fat—stretched the cuffs of his black t-shirt, the chest of which was emblazoned with a red maple leaf. Above the leaf letters of red spelled out “Canadians count, too.” Another set of letters clarified below “(I’m not Canadian).”

  “I wanted to ask you a favor,” Katherine said.

  “No shit,” said Sean. “A favor? Wow. Never crossed my mind. But after all you’ve done for me, stomping on my heart, it’s the least I can do. Leave whatever it is you want fixed and I’ll take a look when I get back from lunch.”

  “It’s not that kind of favor. This is my friend Jeremiah—”

  Jeremiah smiled and offered his hand, which Sean refused.

  “—who was hoping to get access to some waves.”

  Sean sighed.

  “Here,” he said, handing Jeremiah a pad of paper and pen. “Write down when you deleted them, and anything else you can remember, and I’ll take a look when I get back from lunch.”

  “Oh,” Jeremiah said, “I didn’t delete anything—I was just hoping to see all the waves that came in for everyone, from the time we re-established contact until about five days ago. Maybe that makes it easier?”

  “That makes it much easier.”

  “Great,” said Jeremiah.

  “Yeah, yeah. Instead of running undelete on a couple files that you mistakenly trashed, I just have to violate our passengers’ privacy en masse—or wait,” Sean said, “did you want employee waves too?”

  “That would be great.”

  “All right, so the privacy of literally everyone on the entire ship—except yours, of course—and risk my job and maybe legal repercussions? That’s a ton easier, because I can tell you to go fuck yourself and feel really, really good about it.”

  “Sean,” began Katherine, but Jeremiah stopped her with an I’ve got this gesture.

  “Honestly, I thought you might feel that way,” Jeremiah said. “So what if we just snuck a quick peek at the metadata?”

  Sean stared at Jeremiah, saying nothing. Jeremiah had read once that, in a silent standoff like this, the person who spoke first always lost the negotiation. So he resolved to remain silent, and was as good as his resolve even as the tension built up over the next fifteen seconds.

  “Do you even know what metadata is?” asked Sean.

  “Honestly?” said Jeremiah. “No.”

  It seemed unfair that, even though Sean had broken the silence, Jeremiah had lost the negotiation. He was tempted to write a wave of complaint to the author of the book in question. Meanwhile he tried another tack.

  “What if I told you it was a matter of security?”

  “I’d say to get Battle’s steroided ass down here to sign off on it and I’ll show you all the waves you want.”

  Sean stood up, pushed his sleeves a bit further up his biceps, and started for the door.

  “What if I told you,” Jeremiah said, stepping in to block Sean from leaving, “that I could make it worth your while?” He pulled the stack of antique bills that Jack had given him out of his pocket.

  “Jeremiah,” said Katherine, “what are you doing? Is that what you went back to the room to get?”

  “That’s money,” Sean said. “Like, antique money.”

  “That’s exactly what I said to the guy who gave it to me. And you know what he said?”

  “Go fuck yourself?”

  “I think you’re imagining this backwards. In the scenario I’m describing, you would be him, and I would be you.”

  “So?” said Sean.

  “So why would he tell me to go fuck myself after he gave me the money? It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Katherine,” Sean said, “get this guy out of here, please?”

  “I’m not sure that’s such a bad idea, Jeremiah,” Katherine said.

  “What the guy who gave it to me said,” continued Jeremiah, “was this: ‘There’s a lot of credit in money.’”

  There was no denying that Sean looked marginally more interested.

  “You take this money back to Earth, find yourself an antique store, and you’re sitting on a nice little payday.”

  “Like how much?” said Sean.

  “Ten, fifteen thousand credits,” Jeremiah said. “All for a little metadata.”

  “Would you please stop saying that word?”

  “Why don’t you take this money, bring the waves up on your screen here, and go take a leisurely lunch? I promise you’ll never hear the ‘m’ word from my mouth again.”

  Sean seemed to be doing some sort of mental arithmetic.

  “Ten thousand credits doesn’t buy you a lunch hour with full messages,” he said. “It buys you five minutes with subjects and addresses while I go to the bathroom.”

  “That’s robbery,” said Jeremiah. “That’s a deal I wouldn’t offer to a—”

  He stopped, remembering Sean’s shirt.

  “—no one.”

  “Take it or leave it,” said Sean.

  Katherine leaned in towards Jeremiah.

  “Is that the money you told me about?” she whispered in his ear. “That Jack gave you for drugs?”

  Jeremiah nodded.

  “Then should you really be spending it, seeing as you’re not going to be giving Jack any drugs?”

  “I know what I’m doing,” Jeremiah lied. “Done,” he said to Sean, and handed over the bills.

  “Which days were you looking for again?”

  Sean sat down at the desk and began typing.

  “Anything from before five days ago should do it.”

  Sean tapped away, paused, and struck the enter key extra hard. A wall of text appeared on the screen built into his desk.

  “Hit up and down to scroll,” Sean said. “Don’t touch anything else because I’m not going to fix it for you. You have five minutes, starting the moment I close the door. Pleasure doing business with you. Katherine, glad to see you’re still picking your friends so carefully.”

  As he left the office, Jeremiah and Katherine scrambled to the other side of the desk. Katherine sat down and took the controls.

  “That’s a lot of words,” said Jeremiah.

  “Shut up and look for anything suspicious. I’ll scroll.”

  Reading the subjects and recipients reminded Jeremiah of browsing through his PED, back in the days when it was still functional, hopelessly hoping for something to watch and finding only drivel. He forced himself to focus, and managed to absorb the first few lines fully.

  To: Alexander Moakley Subject: Welcome back! To: Esther Idlewhile Subject: Your grandson (all grown up!!!) To: Cornelius Werther Subject: Pictures from Beth's 65th Birthday

  Quickly they all started to blend together.

  Your account ending in 5432 is overdue. Don't miss this special price--one day only! You've waited 20 years for a deal like this! Your account ending in 5432 is seriously overdue.

  Then suddenly, amidst all the spam and graduation photos of grandchildren, something caught Jeremiah’s attention.

  “Wait,” he said. “Scroll back one.”

  Katherine did.

  “Damn,” said Jeremiah. “Double damn.”

  “What is it?”

  “To: Henry Chapin,” Jeremiah read aloud. “Subject: Not the medical news I was hoping to give you.”

  “That means they didn’t cure whatever he has,” said Katherine, “right?”

  “That’s certainly how I take it. He must have already read this—he already knows.”

  “That’s sad, but we don’t have much time. You have to keep reading.”

  Jeremiah tried his best to concentrate on the river of text.

  “Keep scrolling,” he said.

  “That’s the end,” said Katherine.

  “There’s nothing here.”

  “You want to look again?”

  Before Jeremiah could answer,
Sean opened the door a crack. He stayed in the hall.

  “Time’s up,” he said.

  “Should we ask for a few more minutes?” Katherine whispered to Jeremiah.

  “I can hear you,” said Sean. “And no, you shouldn’t.”

  Jeremiah shrugged.

  “I don’t think it would have made a difference anyway,” he said. “I think this was a blind alley.”

  “This is a discussion you could have in the hall,” Sean said.

  Katherine stood up.

  “I’m not going to say thank you to Sean,” she whispered to Jeremiah.

  “I said I can hear you, Katherine,” said Sean.

  “I know,” she whispered to Jeremiah again.

  * * *

  As Katherine and Jeremiah walked back to the suite, it seemed that neither could rally their ebbing adrenaline enough even to comment on their disappointment.

  “Is it just me, or are the days getting longer?” Jeremiah asked when they arrived. “This has been the longest day of my entire life.”

  “I’m going to bed,” said Katherine. “If I can fall asleep right away I can still get two hours of sleep.”

  She opened the door to her bedroom and turned around.

  “I didn’t mean that to sound pissy,” she said. “Just factual. I’m sorry we didn’t find anything. And I’m sorry about Mr. Chapin. And I’m sorry about that conversation we had before we went to sleep the first time tonight, too.”

  “You mean that you’re sorry, but it doesn’t change anything? Or that you’re sorry, and maybe we can have a better conversation about that?”

  Katherine sighed.

  “I honestly don’t know,” she said. “I can’t think straight right now. Maybe we can chat in the morning.”

  “Good night, then,” said Jeremiah. “Oh, damn,” he added, as she turned again to go to sleep, “wait—can I ask you one more favor?”

  Katherine did not look pleased.

  “Tonight, or ever?” she said.

  “That depends on you more than me.”

  “What’s the favor, Jeremiah?”

  “I promised Luis I’d get him some lacquer from the main storeroom.”

  “I’m not going to the storeroom. I’m going to sleep.”

  “Could you at least give me the code, then?”

  “I’m not even supposed to have the code myself.”

  “But you do have it,” Jeremiah pointed out.

  “Good night, Jeremiah.”

  Katherine turned around with great purpose, as though this time nothing in the world could stop her from going to bed. Then she stopped.

  “The doorbell?” she said. “At four in the morning?”

  “Should I get it or you?”

  “You’ve been the harbinger of all the small-hour madness so far.”

  Upon opening the door, Jeremiah became aware of three facts, in rapid succession.

  One: as soon as the door had slid open sufficiently to permit human entrance, a human had sprung through like a crush of water thrilled finally to be past some pesky bulkhead.

  Two: that same human had flung arms around Jeremiah’s neck and was kissing him energetically on the lips.

  Three: the human in question was Dr. Kimberly Merrifield.

  After he had achieved a critical amount of detachment and disentangling, Jeremiah was able to ask her what was going on.

  “Oh, Jeremiah, you knew it since the beginning,” she said. “I’m sorry it took me so long to catch up. Can you ever forgive me?”

  “To catch up to what, exactly?” said Jeremiah.

  “Before I could tell Bradley that I was breaking off our engagement, he launched into all the reasons you were totally wrong for me. So of course I had to start explaining all the reasons you were so right. At first I was having trouble thinking of any, but then I found some, and some more, and then even more. I was very persuasive—so persuasive that I started persuading myself! I should be marrying you!”

  “But you’re not in love with me,” said Jeremiah.

  “But I should be, so I will. It’s the Categorical Imperative, Jeremiah, and I am a creature of reason.”

  “I see,” said Jeremiah, “but—how do I put this?—I am not.”

  “That’s why we’re perfect for each other,” Kimberly said. “Yin and yang. Me, the soul of reason. You, a heart of passion. Oh, the sacrifices you’ve made, Jeremiah! The sacrifices! But now I’ve seen the light: now our engagement can be real. Yes, Jeremiah, I will marry you.”

  “Kimberly, I don’t think this is a good idea.”

  “Then let me persuade you,” she said. “As I mentioned, I can be very persuasive.”

  She leaned in for a kiss, but stopped short.

  “Maybe we should get rid of your roommate, though?” she said.

  Jeremiah turned in agony to the forgotten Katherine, who had been standing in her bedroom doorway, akimbo, observing this exchange.

  “Katherine,” he said, “this is exactly what it looks like—”

  “The code to the storeroom is 3306,” she said. Then she stepped into her room and closed the door behind her.

  “Damn it, Kimberly,” said Jeremiah. “Do you know what you’ve just done?”

  “That’s hardly a way to talk your fiancée,” Kimberly said, leaning towards him again. “Now where were we?”

  “I was just about to point out that I didn’t actually propose to you, and that we’re not actually engaged.”

  “Oh really? Then what’s this?”

  Kimberly pointed to the ring on her finger.

  “That’s the ring you put in my hand after you kicked my leg out from under me so I could pretend to propose to you,” said Jeremiah.

  She laughed.

  “Is that what you’re worried about, silly? That you couldn’t afford a ring? I shouldn’t care about credit—I should love you just as you are. So I will.”

  “But the problem, Kimberly, is that—while I’m sure you’re a nice enough young woman when you’re not causing me trouble—I don’t love you.”

  “What man would give a gift like this—” Kimberly reached up to touch the necklace. “—to a woman he didn’t love?”

  “As we’ve discussed, I dropped it accidentally, and I need it back by tonight. Which is now technically last night.”

  “Oh, Jeremiah, I understand. You must be in such pain. You feel rejected, so you lash out. But like your favorite philosopher Nietzsche, I am saying yes.”

  She leaned in again to kiss him, but Jeremiah prevented her. He was beginning to feel that arguing with Kimberly was like fighting the ocean—he was likely to exhaust himself and drown before his efforts yielded the slightest fruit. And in the meantime, Katherine was in her room feeling confirmed in all sorts of notions that he didn’t want confirmed. So he tried a different approach.

  “Kimberly,” he said, “it’s been a really, really long day, and I need some time and space to process this big—whatever this is. And some sleep. Can we talk tomorrow? I mean, later today?”

  “All right,” Kimberly said. “You get some sleep. But before I go, here’s something to make sure you dream about me.”

  She went in again for the kiss, but Jeremiah turned deftly so that it landed on his cheek. Kimberly laughed.

  “You’re so old-fashioned, Jeremiah. I don’t really like old-fashioned. But I should—so I will. See you tomorrow, lover. Which is today!”

  After Kimberly was safely away, Jeremiah tried knocking at Katherine’s door.

  “Katherine?” he said. “I know you’re not asleep. Would you let me explain?”

  But no response was forthcoming, and eventually Jeremiah gave up. It was almost five o’clock in the morning. Jeremiah was as tired as he could remember ever having been in his life, and he would have liked nothing better than to collapse on the sofa. But if he was going to get the lacquer for Luis before the talent show, it was now or never.

  * * *

  As he walked through the dim, empty halls to
the storeroom, Jeremiah found that it was not Katherine dominating his thoughts, but Henry Chapin. In the exhaustion and madness since the IT office, there had not been time to absorb the evidence of Chapin’s misfortune that he and Katherine had found amid the waves.

  Jeremiah had known Chapin was sick—his illness had been one of the hardest to hide or politely ignore, what with the coughing fits and frequent visits to the medical wing—but terminal illness was such a large part of day-to-day life on the E4 that it bled into the background. Jeremiah knew intellectually that most of the passengers who had booked this passage in the hopes that medicine would catch up with their diseases would end up disappointed. The trip was a lottery ticket, and most lottery tickets weren’t winners. But with the recent drama of his own life, Jeremiah had forgotten that these days the ticket holders would learn the disposition of their tickets—and of all the people that Jeremiah would most have hoped to draw a winner, Henry Chapin topped the list.

  * * *

  Jeremiah entered the combination that Katherine had given him—3306—into the keypad, and stepped back as the storeroom doors performed their impressive opening ceremony. He was about to step through them when he noticed something strange: the lights inside were already on. He stepped inside quietly before the doors closed.

  Whoever was already inside the storeroom had left their cloak and dagger at home. Jeremiah followed the banging and scratching noises along the same path Katherine had led him on his previous visit, and the trail ended in the very same aisle: the one that housed the wood glue, the glue for wood, and the cans of pesticide—one of which cans someone was returning to the shelf at this very moment.