Longer

by Michael Blumlein

  She pulled out jars, canisters, various tools, and instruments, slamming them down on the bench, then compulsively arranging them. Making things neat and tidy was a tic that came out when she was stressed. Work was her love and joy, but also how she dealt with strong emotions. Dash remembered this about her. Like after their crash and burn. How businesslike she became. How completely she shut him out.

  He wanted to say something to her now. Do something. Put the past to bed. Be a friend. Comfort her.

  He had a strong urge to take her in his arms, give her a warm and reassuring hug, but fortunately the urge was short-circuited by the voice of reason, which stayed his hand. He went with words instead, sidestepping almost certain disaster.

  “You have every right to be proud. He’s a great man. One of a kind. He sets the bar high, though. Tough living up to his standards.”

  “He puts himself on a pedestal.”

  “Interesting,” said Dash. “I thought that was me, putting him there. I know I do. Warts and all. He deserves to be there.”

  “I wish he’d come down.” She felt tied in knots. “Now I sound like a hypocrite.”

  “You don’t.”

  “It’s his specialty. Making us doubt and second-guess ourselves.”

  “It’s his gift. We don’t have to accept it. I haven’t, not this time. There’s no doubt in my mind what he should do.”

  “He does have a point.”

  “About what? Unfairness? Inequality? There’s less and less every day.”

  “Less is still too much.”

  “Any is too much,” said Dash. “But the tables are turning. The scales are evening out. It won’t be this way forever.”

  “Won’t that be nice? But what about now? What about the world we’re building now? People living longer and longer. Overpopulation. Overcrowding. Resources stretched to the limit. Mental and physical stress. There’re so many of us. Privilege or no privilege, it’s not healthy. Not for us, and not for Momma.”

  “Cav says this?”

  “I say this. But yes. Of course. Not only him. It’s there for anyone to see.”

  “We’ll find a way,” said Dash. “Always have.”

  “You think so?”

  “I do.”

  “You’re optimistic.”

  “I am. Science and technology are powerful tools. I have faith.”

  She was feeling wicked. “Here’s an idea. How about another invasion? A real one this time. Followed by mass extermination. Lightening the load on . . . well, everything.”

  “Hopefully, we’ll find a better solution than that.”

  “Maybe our Ooi is an advance scout.”

  He gave her a look. This wasn’t the Gunjita he remembered. That Gunjita didn’t have a cynical bone in her body. That Gunjita was earnest and sincere. She wouldn’t have known sarcasm if it bit her in the face.

  This one had an edge.

  “You’re not serious,” he said.

  “He has a point is all I’m saying. He could stick around and try to sell it. Work to solve the problem. Instead he comes here and contemplates suicide.” She felt at the end of her rope. “I wish our Ooi were alive. Cav might juve if it were. No guarantee, but the hook would be that much harder to get out.”

  “It could be.”

  “Alive? I don’t believe it.”

  “I felt something.”

  “I’m sure you did, but what?”

  “Movement.”

  “That no one else can feel.”

  “I wish you could,” he said.

  “Your own pulse maybe.”

  “Possibly.”

  “The point being—”

  He cut her off. “I know the point. It’s no proof. Let’s do an experiment.”

  “What kind of experiment?”

  “I’ll feel your pulse.”

  “I can do that myself.”

  “Not just your heartbeat. All your pulses.”

  She eyed him. “Meaning what?”

  “Your ebb and flow. Your waves and vibrations. Your internal flux.”

  “My flux? No, thanks.”

  “I’ll interpret them,” he said, gaining momentum. “You tell me what you’ve been thinking and feeling, and I’ll tell you what I found. We’ll see how closely the two match.”

  “You’ll confirm my thoughts and feelings?”

  “Scientifically. Not only the ones you’re aware of.”

  “My secrets? My private life? My precious, highly personal, highly confidential flux?” She could barely keep from laughing in his face.

  “Everything. You can’t believe how sensitive I’ve become.”

  “Oh, I believe it.”

  “Just give it a try.”

  “Close your mouth,” she said. “You’re salivating.”

  He reached for her hand.

  “No, you don’t.”

  She refused to give it to him, wanting to be neither guinea pig, object of desire, nor inspiration for his stale, pale fantasy life. As a come-on, it was lamer than a broken-down horse.

  Though she couldn’t help being curious. Not to mention, she could use a break from Mr. I - Want - To - Kill - Myself. He was an albatross around her neck. A little fun and games, a little goofiness, would be a breath of fresh air.

  “Very lightly,” she agreed, extending her wrist.

  He held his hand just above her. His expression turned inward and intensified, as though he were entering a new state of mind or consciousness, leaving their world for another. His fingertips seemed to have a life of their own, slowly drifting downward until they brushed her skin.

  His touch was gentle and feather light. She felt a tingle, which was nice, though nothing like the electric shock she’d once experienced. And it didn’t last.

  A short time later, she ended the experiment, pulling her hand back, breaking contact.

  “So?” she asked. “Pick the lock? Crack the safe? Find what you were looking for?”

  “Blew the door right off.”

  “Ouch. Explosive.”

  “Let’s compare notes. What are you thinking and feeling?”

  “You tell me.”

  There were a number of things he wanted to say. Almost all were in the realm of guesses, hopes, and dreams. He knew enough to tread lightly.

  “I think you’re interested.”

  “In you?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s what you’re thinking.”

  “You’re not?”

  “Among many other things. Many other.”

  “So yes.”

  Was he kidding? “It’s not going to happen, Dash. So drop it.”

  “What’s not? I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I’m not going to sleep with you.”

  “Sleep with me?” He looked shocked.

  She didn’t buy it. “Let’s change the subject. How’s your mother?”

  “Sleep with you?”

  “Your mother, Dash. How’s she doing?”

  “That’s not what I was thinking.”

  “Has she seen you lately?” Not, have you seen her?

  “She’s old.”

  “But not blind. What was her reaction?”

  “Ask her.”

  “Don’t pout.”

  “Don’t presume,” he shot back.

  She and Ruby hadn’t spoken in nearly sixty years. Unlikely that was going to change. Juving was a miracle, but to friends and families it created havoc. Or it could. Parents younger than their kids, and acting like kids. Grown-ups transformed into twenty-year-olds with something to prove. Taboos questioned. Traditions turned on their heads.

  Ruby had not taken kindly to Gunjita sleeping with her son. Gunjita had not taken kindly to it herself, once she came to her senses.

  Professionally, the fallout was severe. Sleeping with a student was wrong in so many ways. Changing mores had not changed this essential fact. Not yet. Dash hadn’t made things any easier for her. She nearly lost her lab, not to mention her career. />
  Eventually, she recovered. The incident receded into the past. She got back on her feet. Professionally, it was pretty much smooth sailing after that. Personally, there was no point in continuing to beat herself up.

  Ruby, unfortunately, didn’t share that opinion. There was one particularly ugly shouting match, at a restaurant no less. Ruby did the shouting. Frozen to her chair, Gunjita sat and listened, mouth agape, then excused herself from the table. She went to the restroom, took a number of deep breaths, then left. Walked right out of the restaurant, and kept walking. Hadn’t laid eyes on Ruby since.

  “She can’t have been happy.”

  “She’s my mother,” said Dash, as though no further explanation were needed. He picked up a small, stainless-steel tray, studying his reflection in it.

  “There’s a black that eats lasers,” he said. “You know the one I’m talking about? Absorbs all light.”

  “I’ve heard of it.”

  “They’ve invented something even blacker. Blackest black ever. A black hole black.”

  Gunjita recalled Ruby’s search for something like that. “Grabs your attention, I’m guessing.”

  “Swallows it. If she could, she’d be that. She painted herself once for a performance. Freaked people out.”

  “Kleptomania had a reputation for that.”

  He nodded. “The Stealer of Hearts and Souls. The Robber of Self-Righteousness.”

  “The Thief of Hypocrisy,” she added.

  “All that. Happiest day of her life.”

  “Is she still performing?”

  “She killed herself.”

  Gunjita was stunned. “Who did? You said . . . Oh my god!”

  He heaved a sigh, drawing the moment out, being something of a performer himself. The bearer of postsurgical good or bad news more times than he could count. He knew what suspense could do, and on principle avoided it.

  But this was payback.

  Gunjita was reeling. “Your mother killed herself? You said she was fine. I can’t believe it.”

  He let her hang a bit longer before coming clean.

  “She retired. Onstage. A kite, a knish, and a good-bye kiss. Her final bow. You didn’t hear?”

  Her relief was immediate and immense. She slumped like a rag, then picked herself up, and shoved him in the chest.

  They flew apart. Several pieces of lab equipment flew with them. Gunjita couldn’t have cared less.

  “You know something, Dash?”

  “What’s that?”

  “You’re an asshole.”

  At last, a little warmth. A little affection.

  “And you do want to sleep with me. It’s the truth. You shouldn’t protest. I don’t mind that you do. But I’m curious. Is it coming from you? Or did Cav put you up to it?”

  1 From Who and What Can Hurt Us: Rebuttal to Arguments against HUBIE Research, by 1URTH Press.STYLES: loosen

  –EIGHT–

  When you live a long life, there are things you forget. Some you choose to forget. Some, simply, are forgettable. This is natural.

  When you live three long lives, with three times the experiences in a one lifetime–sized brain, the forgotten begins to pile up. By the end the pressure can be immense, rather like a storm about to break. A neurobarometrically volatile time in one’s life. You may hear voices. You may be jittery and restless. Wake frequently at night. You may feel out of sorts, as if you’re not yourself. Don’t be alarmed.

  Alternatively, you may feel more yourself than ever. Don’t be alarmed by this, either.1

  Gunjita was asleep. Cav slid into the mod, trying not to disturb her.

  She opened her eyes.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  “It’s okay. I’m awake.”

  “You know a guy named Cantrell?”

  “No. Should I?”

  “I just got off the comm with him. He heard about our Ooi. Had some questions.”

  “He’s a reporter?”

  “An interested party. His words. A friend of Dash. Also his words.” He told her what he knew about him.

  “What does Dash say?”

  “That he’s clever. Smart. A bit of an oddball.”

  “How’d he get past security?”

  “One of his talents, I take it.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  Cav loosened his belt and started to undress. “We’re half-alien to begin with. Xenophobia is oxymoronic.”

  “Is that what you said?”

  “I’m saying it to you.”

  She’d heard it a hundred times before. “Did you tell him it was alive?”

  “No.”

  “Dead?”

  He got his pants as far as his ankles, but couldn’t free his legs. “When did we develop such an antagonism to other species?”

  “Did you say ‘species’? Did you use that word?”

  “I might have. I don’t remember.”

  It was only a species if he said so publicly. From that point on, right or wrong, they would have no peace. The world would have no peace. The Hoax had proven this. Not a restful time for planet Earth.

  And the instigator? The provocateur?

  He’d be a hero to all the wrong people, a laughingstock to everyone else.

  At present his pants were stuck. He couldn’t get them off, and was thrashing back and forth like a fish on a hook. He was a laughingstock now.

  She chided herself for the thought.

  “When they tried to kill us,” she said. “Or killed us, without trying. Let’s see. When did that start? How about the beginning of time.”

  “Most of them don’t. Nature preaches harmony, mostly.”

  “We preach harmony. Nature preaches tooth and claw.”

  “When did you get so cynical, Gunji?”

  “When did you get so soft?”

  He felt the opposite. Courageous. Defiant. Scared, sure, but you couldn’t be courageous if you weren’t.

  “I have something to tell you,” he said.

  “So tell me.”

  “I love you very much.”

  “You have a strange way of showing it.”

  “I’m sorry. I know. What I’ve put you through the last few weeks . . . I can’t imagine what it’s been like. In return, you’ve shown me nothing but patience and kindness. You’ve been incredible.”

  “Thank you, Cav.”

  “You are incredible.”

  She kissed him, then took hold of his pants and yanked.

  “Nicely done,” he said.

  She turned off the light.

  “Have you given any more thought to your precatastrophe alarm?” he asked.

  “A little. Not much. Why?”

  “It’s a good idea.”

  “Maybe. We’ll see.”

  “If not that, then what? What next?”

  “Not sure. I have some ideas.”

  “Care to share them?”

  She tossed a few out, wondering where this sudden curiosity was coming from.

  “Will you teach?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You should. You’re a wonderful teacher. Passionate. Inspiring. I remember the first time I heard you. The lecture you gave. I haven’t been the same since.”

  “That’s nice,” she said. “I might. I might try something else. I haven’t decided.”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  She rolled on her side, and faced his dark bulk. “How doesn’t it matter?”

  “You’ll be good at whatever you do.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Not only good, but happy. You’ll be happy. I know because I know you.”

  “I hope I will be. I plan to be.”

  “I love you, darling.”

  She felt a growing uneasiness: so much affection and encouragement, welcome at any other time, only half-welcome now because of the feeling that something was off.

  She rolled onto her back, and closed her eyes. “We have a busy day tomorrow. Time to sleep. Good night, Cav.
”

  “Good night, sweetheart.”

  * * *

  The next time she opened her eyes, it was morning, and he was gone. She dressed, and went looking for him, checking the bay first. The HUBIES floated like hot-air balloons. It sickened her to look at them. The Ooi was yellow-green, and save for the small missing part, unchanged.

  She found him with Dash in the lab, the two of them scrolling through a series of images that looked like smears of paint.

  Dash looked up when she arrived. His eyes were bloodshot. His voice, tired and contrite.

  “It didn’t work. Not sure why. Maybe how I mixed the stain. Or something in the transfer.”

  “You said you could do it.”

  “I said I’d try.”

  “The slide is worthless?”

  He stood aside and motioned to the images. “See for yourself.”

  She ran through them rapidly. There were slashes, drips, and splotches of stain, some of them translucent, some opaque. Nothing close to informative.

  “A waste,” she said.

  “Maybe not,” said Cav. “Maybe it’s telling us something. There’s a message here.”

  She ignored him. “You’re going to make another one?”

  “I can. No guarantee.”

  “Make three,” she said. “Let’s learn from our mistake.”

  “It’s unnecessary,” said Cav.

  “No you don’t. It is necessary.”

  “It’s not.” He cleared his throat. “I have something to say.”

  It sounded serious. She wished she were elsewhere. “I have something to say first. We’re done with the HUBIES. They’ve served their purpose. We have no further use for them. We should put them to sleep.”

  Cav raised his eyebrows.

  Dash looked like he’d been dropped from a cliff.

  “We should put them out of their misery,” she added.

  “They’re not in misery,” Dash reminded her.

  “They’ve done what they were asked to do.”

  “Made to do,” he said.

  “Precisely. Cav?”

  He opened his mouth to answer, but no words came out. In their place he felt a flutter in his chest, as if a moth were trapped. His vision blurred. The room receded. He couldn’t feel his legs.

  Abruptly, the flutter stopped.

  Gunjita was staring at him.