Shelf Life

by Bob Crosley

  “This is an old problem, Jacob. About 200 years ago, on Earth, my country, Russia, became part of a larger country called the Soviet Union. The Soviet Union had planners, just like we do here. They thought they were the smartest people in the country. They would build these cities, using all of their vast knowledge and skills, and they would sit empty. Another country, China, would do the same thing, leaving barren cities, rusting amusement parks, and vacant shopping malls. And the cities that weren’t empty? They were filled at the end of a gun. People were forced to move there. Everyone is easier to control when they’re right where the government puts them.” By this point, Dr. Antonov had moved to Mrs. Alders’s legs. Again, testing how far they would stretch, and then lifting her leg off the table and tapping her knees with a little rubber hammer.

  “Dr…” At the look on the doctor’s face, Jacob caught his mistake. “Vasiliy, that was over 200 years ago. We know more now. We have an entirely new planet. We have better computers. We have the BICE. We’re a lot smarter now. And we don’t make people move by force, either.” Jacob was a little offended by the idea that someone was forcing people like his family to do things they didn’t want to do.

  “Jacob, why did your parents move to New Detroit?”

  “They were giving free housing and jobs to everyone who agreed to move. My parents didn’t have anything in the City. They were starving. The government saved their lives!” Jacob never liked talking about his dad, and he was afraid this conversation was headed in that direction. It made him tense.

  “And since they first came to the city, how many times have you moved?”

  “Um, I remember six times. But we haven’t moved in two years, not since mom got sick.” Jacob felt relieved the conversation didn’t seem to be heading toward his dad.

  “And why did you move?” Dr. Antonov’s voice took on the tone the lawyers on the Internet shows used when questioning a witness. He was leading Jacob somewhere. Jacob was determined to not get led into a trap. This was getting fun.

  “We moved for our safety. People were too spread out for Transport to protect us from the terrorists. They were trying to keep us safe. It’s not like they forced us out at gunpoint.” Jacob pointed out the flaw in Dr. Antonov’s argument.

  “And if you didn’t move? What would happen?” Dr. Antonov asked.

  “Well, they didn’t round us up. We just had to move before they shut off the water and power.”

  “And that’s not forcing you to move? Do what they want, or you’re sitting without water, no working toilets and no electricity? Isn’t that forcing you to move? It’s just a little friendlier than pointing a gun in your face. And Jacob, there hasn’t been a terrorist attack in New Detroit in… well, ever.” Dr. Antonov stopped there, waiting for it to sink in.

  Jacob’s brow furrowed as he thought about what Dr. Antonov had said. Is he right? Or is he just like those crazy men at the market, who knew the ‘real reasons’ behind the official Transport explanation?

  “Jacob, your father understood…”

  The mention of his father pulled Jacob from his thoughts. He felt the anger flood over him, the heat rising quickly to his face. “What?” he demanded from the doctor.

  “Jacob!” Dr. Antonov was shocked at the sudden outpouring of anger. “I wasn’t going to criticize your father. He was a good man. I was just saying that…”

  “A good man? What kind of good man leaves his wife and son? I was only nine! If he’s a good man, where is he now? Why hasn’t he come back to take care of his wife? A good man doesn’t leave, Dr. Antonov!” Jacob realized he was yelling, and regretted losing control of his temper. “I’m sorry I yelled, Doctor… Vasiliy.” He started to look toward the floor, ashamed, when Dr. Antonov’s expression caught his attention. It was one of sudden realization.

  “Jacob, I’m sorry. I’m afraid I didn’t understand everything. Please accept my apology.” Jacob nodded, still perplexed. “We have to finish up here, Jacob. It’s time for her shot. You know what you have to do?”

  “Yes. I log everything and send it to you. About that other thing… you didn’t know. I’m sorry I yelled.”

  “Not a problem, Jacob. Not at all.” Turning to Jacob’s mother, he started raising the head of the examination table, moving her into a sitting position. A wide, soft strap across her chest prevented her from falling over.

  “OK Annabelle, time for your shot.” Dr. Antonov put his face right in front of Mrs. Alders, looking right in her eyes. “Now, this medicine is going to give you some of your muscles back. The small ones. For a little while. You should be able to move your fingers and toes, but more importantly, it will give you your voice back. We want to hear from you. Hear how you’re doing inside that lovely head of yours. OK?” He saw only the same slack expression and empty eyes. Dr. Antonov filled a syringe from a small bottle he took from the medicine cabinet. Finding a vein in the crook her of her right arm, he slid the needle in and slowly released the medicine into her blood.

  “OK. We’re all done!” he announced cheerfully. “Jacob, let me get Rob to come in here in and get your mother into her chair.” Rob was the doctor’s orderly. He helped all of the patients who didn’t have family with them.

  “That’s OK, doctor. I can do it.” Caring for his mother was Jacob’s job. And it was one he took seriously.

  “Jacob,” Dr. Antonov said gently. “You don’t have to do it all yourself. There isn’t anyone at home to help you get her into bed, so why don’t you let Rob help you while you’re here? Besides, I have something I need to talk to you about.”

  Curious, Jacob agreed, and Dr. Antonov called for the orderly. The doctor put his arm around Jacob’s shoulder and led him to the corner of the examination room. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pad and a pen. “Let me write something down for you,” he said, as he put the point of pen to paper.

  “Can’t you send a note to my BICE?” The only person Jacob ever saw write a note by hand was his mom’s mom, Grandma Wanda.

  “Not this, I can’t.” Dr. Antonov handed him the slip of paper. It was a series of eight numbers, separated by colons. “Do you know what that is, Jacob?”

  “Uh, yes. It’s a raw net address. These are the numbers that the computer looks up and uses after you type in the name of the net channel you want to visit.” Jacob had always done well in computer classes and hoped to study computer science, if he ever made it to University.

  “This address will only be good tomorrow night at nine o’clock. It’s the net show of a former Transport agent, Marcus Weatherly. I think it’s something you should see. But please, don’t share this with anyone. It’s not something Transport would look kindly upon.” Dr. Antonov looked at him, waiting for an acknowledgement that he understood the seriousness of the request.

  “Of course, Vasiliy,” Jacob answered, although he had no intention of watching anything from someone claiming to be an ex-Transport agent. “Thank you.”

  Jacob folded the slip of paper and slid it into his pocket. Rob had finished securing Mrs. Alders in her chair. Jacob thanked him and started out of the office, heading to the Transport station, and home.

  Chapter Four

  It was late afternoon by the time they caught an airbus to New Detroit, and Jacob was exhausted from pushing the chair the sixteen blocks from the doctor’s office to the station. After latching down his mother’s chair in the wheelchair spot, he took the open seat next to her. It felt good to be able to sit down in an air-conditioned airbus.

  The airbus had fifteen rows of four seats, with an aisle down the middle. The front row on each side had one seat, and one empty space with connection points to attach a standard wheelchair. In front of that, the wall had two seats that could fold down; jump seats, Jacob heard them called. On some longer trips, they were used by the airbus crew. And in this particular case, one was being used by a Transport officer. And that made Jacob extremely nervous.

  Jacob was certain the Transport officer was staring at
him. He could feel the heat of his gaze burning into the top of his head, as he pretended to look at the floor. That heat was only topped by the heat from his pocket. It felt like that sheet of paper was on fire. Occasionally, he would steal a glance toward the officer, only to see the blank expression of a user lost in the Internet.

  Why is he here? Did he follow us? Was he watching the doctor’s office? Is Dr. Antonov a known troublemaker for giving out that address? Is Dr. Antonov a terrorist? Jacob found his pulse racing and sweat beading on his forehead, despite the air conditioning. Maybe I should turn myself in? If I haven’t gone to that address, I haven’t really done anything wrong. And they’re not going to take me from Mom. Someone needs to take care of her. They won’t put me in prison. Not for this. He forced himself to breathe deeply and try to relax. He knew he hadn’t done anything wrong, but if he kept acting as if he had, it would arouse the Transport officer’s suspicion. Just breathe deep. And relax.

  “Jacob,” said a whisper.

  Jacob looked around. The airbus was almost empty, and the few people there seemed to be lost in their own heads. Who said that? Am I hearing voices now?

  “Jacob.” This time the voice was a bit louder, with a gravelly rasp, like it hadn’t been used in a while.

  “Mom?” He quickly accessed the logging app and logged the time that his mother said her first word. Tracking how soon she started speaking after a shot, and how long she remained lucid, was critical to helping the doctor track the progress of the disease.

  “Mom!” Jacob took a small bottle from the bag under her chair and offered her a sip of water. “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m worried about you, Jacob,” was the strained reply.

  “Me? Mom, don’t worry about me. I’m fine. You just worry about getting better.” It was hard for the young man to believe that his mother, his desperately ill mother, was worried about him. But it felt nice, too, to know that during these years of taking care of her, she still yearned to care for him.

  “You’ve changed, Jacob. You’re not the same.”

  “I’ve grown up, Mom. I’m a man. An adult. I can’t be the same kid I was and still take care of you.” Jacob still wasn’t sure where she was headed with this.

  “You used to be such an inquisitive boy, so curious. You questioned everything. You demanded proof, evidence.” Her voice faded off and she tilted her head toward the water bottle. Jacob helped her drink and gave her a moment to gather her strength. “Do you remember the Transport presentation at school when you were nine? You asked that Transport officer, ‘How do we know there are terrorists in New Detroit when we never see any and they don’t do anything?’” She laughed hoarsely at the memory, triggering a coughing fit. Jacob gave her another sip from the bottle. “Only you, a nine-year-old boy, would accuse a Transport agent of making it all up!”

  “Of course I remember it. How can you think that’s funny, mom? I made dad leave over that.”

  “Jacob?” She gasped, the shock in her voice obvious. “Is that what you think happened?”

  “I know what happened. They called dad down to the school. He got in a fight with the Transport agent, and they arrested him. Then when he got out, he left us and went to the City.” Every word came out soaked in the shame Jacob felt, the shame he was drowning in.

  “Oh, Jacob. My poor, sweet Jacob. I can’t believe you’ve spent these years thinking you drove your father away. It’s my fault because I never told you the whole story.” Unable to move her head and much of her face, her expressions were limited mostly to her eyes. But still, the sorrow and regret were obvious.

  “Yes, they called your father to the school and yes, he got into an argument with the Transport agent; an argument, not a fight. The agent got angry when your dad laughed at the story. Then he threw your question back in the agent’s face!” Annabelle started laughing again, this time without coughing.

  Jacob glanced uncomfortably in the direction of the Transport agent, in the jump seat diagonally across from him. Now they certainly had the agent’s attention, and it was clear he was using his BICE to access their records.

  “Shhh! Mom, you have to be quiet. There’s a Transport officer right there.” Jacob was terrified, and it was starting to show. If he were searched, and the agent found that Internet address, who knows what might happen. Jacob quietly slid his hand into his pocket and found the slip of paper. He considered sliding it out and letting it drop to the floor, but if the agent saw that, he’d certainly stop them and probably detain them. Better to take the chance that he’d leave them be rather than ensure trouble.

  “Oh, I saw him. What’s he going to do? Throw me up against the wall? Arrest me?” She started laughing again. This the most Jacob could ever remember her laughing, at least since she got sick.

  “Then what happened, Mom? What happened with Dad?”

  “ Jacob, your father did get arrested, but it was 8 months later, and it had nothing to do with your question at school.” She clearly wanted the story to end there, but Jacob wasn’t having it.

  “Why did he get arrested, if it wasn’t that?” You can’t tear down the walls around half of a young man’s worldview and leave it at that. You have to finish the job.

  “Myles piloted a cargo airbus for Transport. He carried cargo between all the major Shelf cities. It was a good job, and he loved talking with everyone at each of his stops. Your father loved people.” Her eyes took on a faraway look, and a slight smile crossed her lips. “He always wanted to help. You know that private transport is illegal, right?”

  “Of course, Mom. It’s been that way since Earth.” The realization hit Jacob like a punch to the gut. “Mom, was he running private transport?”

  “No! Well, not really. Jacob, your father never took money. But official cargo transport costs a lot of money, and it means the Transport Authority will be poking through your stuff. Sometimes, people don’t want that. So your father would take small packages, unofficially, between stops for some of his friends… and a few other people. Then one day, his airbus broke down and they needed to transfer all of his cargo to another bus. That was when they found the packages. And that’s when he was arrested.”

  “Oh my God, Mom, what did they do when they arrested him?”

  “They questioned him for days. They accused him of carrying packages for terrorists. He was in prison a year, but they never found any ties to terrorists, so they released him.” Annabelle cast her eyes down toward the floor. “When he got out, Jacob, he was a broken man. He didn’t sleep. He started drinking. He just couldn’t face this world anymore. That’s when he… he left.”

  “Why didn’t you ever tell me this, Mom?” The relief Jacob felt at not being responsible for his dad leaving was overwhelmed by his dismay that the truth had been hidden from him all these years.

  “I didn’t tell you when you were young because I didn’t want you to be ashamed of your dad. A boy shouldn’t be ashamed of his father. I promise you, Jacob, if I had known that you blamed yourself, I would’ve told you right away. I’m so sorry.” Jacob could see the tears building up in her eyes, threatening to break loose and stream down her cheeks.

  “No, no, no, no, no. Don’t cry. Please don’t cry. I’m not mad. I’m just… well… it’s hard to know what to think when I’ve spent so long thinking something else. But thank you for telling me the truth.”

  While they were talking, the airbus landed in New Detroit and the few passengers filed off. The Transport agent was the last to disembark, and as he walked past Jacob and Annabelle, he stared right into Jacob’s eyes, trying to intimidate him. It worked. Jacob broke his gaze and focused on unlatching his mom’s chair.

  He took the handles of the chair and turned her toward the rear door. “Come on, Mom, let’s get you home and get you some real dinner.”

  “I’m starving, and I don’t have to drink dinner tonight! Best part about doctor day, chewing!” Jacob laughed as they left the bus and started the long walk home.

 
Chapter Five

  Jacob was exhausted. Dinner behind him and the kitchen cleaned up, he sat in the chair next to his mother’s bed, as he did every doctor day. It was important to watch how his mother did in the night, and log it all for Dr. Antonov. Since patients with the Wasting were non-responsive most of the time, observation after their shots was the most reliable way to gauge the progress of the disease. The problem was that the body quickly became immune to the effects of the injections, so they could only be used as a testing method rather than a treatment.

  Jacob always marveled at the change in his mother after she received her injection. She could talk, and think clearly again. On good days, she could even move her fingers. Jacob asked her one time what it was like between shots. Was she the same person, locked in her body? She told him that without the medicine, she couldn’t remember much of anything. Her thoughts were as uncontrolled as her body. He always wondered whether that was better or worse than the alternative.

  He eventually got his mom to go to sleep. On doctor days, she fought sleep like a toddler might and for the same reason; she was afraid she might miss something. But not sleeping was only going to make things worse, so Jacob sat and talked with her until she drifted off. He had been thinking all day about what she had said on the airbus. That he had lost his curiosity, and his willingness to question what he was told. But how much could he question, and fight? He needed to take care of her. He was the only one who could. On the other hand, maybe she was right. Maybe it was time to try to get that curiosity back.

  Jacob popped a Q, washing it down with the glass of water from his mother’s nightstand. He quickly smelled that familiar orange zest smell, and decided it was time to do some research. He reclined the chair, closed his eyes, and activated his BICE. Even with his eyes closed, he ‘saw’ the familiar flash of white light as he accessed the Internet.

  He found himself in his personal workspace. His avatar, his online persona, was a large, muscular man, dressed in the full uniform of a dragonslayer of the Northern Territories. His avatar was standing on the plains of Gorath. At his feet were relics and potions representing the tools Jacob used frequently on the net. The areas he accessed most often, represented by different dragons, circled slowly in the air over the plains, like a bird riding a thermal on a hot summer day. Notifications popped up in his peripheral vision, telling him he had messages, and letting him know what games his friends were playing.