by Alex Drozd
Thoughts like these had been eating up all his time, as well as his thoughts about Alissa. He knew he needed to relax, calm down, decompress. He had just achieved a milestone—supposedly; it was something every single kid his age achieved—and he had the day off. Why not enjoy it? he thought. Why not just be happy today?
Stuart walked into the dining unit for breakfast. Brian sat in his usual seat waiting, with fork in hand, for his meal. With basic over, much of the colony was off, and his father was on a break as well. They all wanted to relax before the big trip, the one that was sure to be exhausting. Stuart wondered if his mother still thought it was relaxing if she had to cook. He hoped so. He was hungry.
And, like he had feared, Alissa reappeared. She sat at the dining room table, her legs folded over one another. She waited a moment to look up at Stuart. He stood there gaping at her.
“Stu,” Brian said. “Sit down! What are you staring at?”
“Huh?” Stuart replied rather loudly. He felt ashamed.
“What are you staring at?”
Alissa smiled at him.
“Nothing,” Stuart said. He took his seat. Brian played with a PortScreen on the table, killing time until breakfast was laid out before him. Once he was comfortable, Stuart looked back at Alissa, making sure his father wasn’t watching him.
“What are you doing here?” he asked her.
“What’s that?” Brian said, looking up at Stuart.
He almost jumped. His father could hear him?
Alissa giggled.
“Nothing,” Stuart said.
“I’m getting breakfast, that’s what,” Brian said. “Why do you look so freaked out?”
“I’m really hungry.”
“You look like you’ve seen an alien.”
“Stu,” Alissa purred. “Pay attention to me, Stu.”
He shook his head, desperately wishing to knock her image out of sight. Yet, she still sat there. Her giggling still rang in his ears.
“Mom, what’s for breakfast?” he called out. Brian was giving his son a worried look.
“Eggs,” she called back. “Fake ones, of course.”
Stuart nodded. “Better than nothin’, am I right, Dad?”
“The hell’s up with you?” his father laughed. “Stu.”
“Yeah?”
“Why are you acting funny?”
“I’m not acting funny.”
“You’re acting funny as a joke is what you are.” He father leaned forward. “You got a crush, Stu?”
“What?”
“Brenda!” Brian boomed. “I think Stu has a crush!”
“Oh my, really?”
Stuart’s face turned red. Alissa’s giggling turned into bellowing laughter. She rocked back and forth, shaking her head at Stuart.
“Stop it,” he snapped at her.
“Hey, calm down,” Brian said. “Don’t use that kind of tone. We’re just teasing you. Well, do you have one?”
“No,” Stuart said.
“You’re positive?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm,” Brian frowned. He leaned back in his seat. “Never mind, he says he doesn’t.”
“I bet he’s lying.”
“I’m not!” Stuart shouted with a bit more attitude than he should have.
“Watch it, young man.”
While they berated him for his tone, Alissa continued to sit there, laughing at him. She shook her head a few more times, giggling, “Oh, Stu”.
Doing his best to ignore her, Stuart muttered his apologies to his parents. When his mother came into the dining room with breakfast, he accepted his meal and ate it without even taking a look at Alissa. His parents were focused on their food as well, although they did quibble about a few travel details. Stuart tuned it all out—Alissa, his parents’ voices, everything that was driving him crazy.
When they were done eating, Brenda cleaned the table. Brian shifted in his seat, the fat man rocking the chair back and forth, belching and grunting. Letting the world know that the beast was full.
“Stuart,” he grumbled. “I need you to come help me disconnect the refill dispenser. We don’t want it running while we’re gone.”
“Do I have to?” Stuart moaned.
“You do,” Brian boomed.
He slumped in his seat.
“Come on,” his father said. “The sooner we get it done with, the sooner you can get to whatever it is you like doing.”
As they got up to leave, Alissa disappeared. Stuart glared at where she had been. Please don’t come back, he thought. Please stop.
Brian, after grabbing his tool kit, led Stuart to the front door. “It shouldn’t take more than twenty minutes. Don’t complain,” he went on, though Stuart hadn’t said anything else.
Brian opened the door. Gasping, Stuart grabbed him and pulled him back before he could step out. His father had almost stepped out into a chasm, one that began right outside their dwelling unit, spanning out for a couple of meters. Had his father not seen it? What in the world?
“Stu, seriously, what’s up with you?” Brian grunted. “What?”
“The—the,” Stuart pointed. “Don’t you see it?”
The chasm below looked bottomless, a narrow drop that led to the center of Janus. If his father had taken one more step, he never would have returned.
“See what?” Brian asked, giving his son a worrying look.
“The hole.”
“What hole? Did I almost trip on something?” His father bent down, looking around the doorway for an imperfection in the ground. Usually there was a concrete surface beneath the dwelling units, but Stuart didn’t see it now, just the drop.
“I don’t see anything,” Brian said. He frowned at his son and went to step outside again.
Stuart shrieked.
“God dammit, what?” Brian roared. “What in the hell is going on with you?”
“You’re going to fall! Fuck. Don’t you see it?” Stuart waved his hands over the chasm. It probably went down forever.
“I don’t see anything!”
They kept screaming at each other. Brenda came to the door to see what all the noise was about. Her jaw dropped when she saw her husband standing outside, pulling on their son while he gripped the frame of the doorway, crying and screaming to be let go. The door began to slide closed, gently bouncing back and forth off of Stuart’s fingers as it sensed something in the way.
“What’s going on?” Brenda cried through the opening and closing door.
“He’s gone insane!” Brian shouted.
Stuart kept screaming. “You’ll fall! We’ll fall!”
“Stu,” his mother began to weep. “Stu, why are you screaming?”
“We’re going to fall in!”
The struggle lasted a long while. They tried everything to convince him the ground was there, same as it always was, but he didn’t yield. The automatic door began to give off an alarm since it couldn’t close, warning that the inside and outside air were becoming too mixed up, a health hazard on Janus due to it not being fully terraformed. They had to call security. Stuart wouldn’t stop crying, wouldn’t let go of the door frame, his body in a cold sweat and his breathing and sobbing becoming near hyperventilation. He became convinced he was on the only square meter of solid ground there was in the world. Everything else led to a fall.
11
Cliff Novak leaned on his kitchen counter, checking his PortScreen. He had done so several times in the past hour.
“Jody,” he called out, his voice ringing through the apartment. “Are you coming with me?”
“No thanks.”
“You sure?”
“Yep.”
Cliff glanced back down at the screen. Still nothing. He was growing impatient. There wasn’t enough time to get started on anything, so he wanted it to be time to leave already. He stretched his neck, hummed a tune, and popped his fingers—though that was a social taboo on five major planets—and sipped on a glass of water. Killing time.
Finally, he thought. Still humming out loud, Cliff walked to his hover car. He was then on the road to the spaceport, listening to his favorite music, a two-decade old artist named Rhi Adams. He found her music authentic, its quality vintage. Smiling to himself, Cliff tapped the drumbeat on his knees, watching the car drive itself through the Earth traffic.
Things were good; they would have been better had Emma been in the seat next to his, but that was a small detail. Everything else was pleasant, he thought.
The hover car came to a stop as it pulled behind several others waiting behind a traffic light. The vehicles were all light silver color. They gleamed in the late afternoon sun. Each one hung a foot off the ground—they could afford to be closer than the buses due to their smaller sizes. The one Cliff drove was about four years old. He found himself wondering how much a new one would be. Give this to Jody one day, he thought. And then maybe get a new one for myself.
Once the traffic sped up, Cliff began craving a carbonated beverage. He checked the time and saw that he could afford to stop. He had only left right away because he wanted something to do.
Telling the car to get off at the next exit, Cliff continued humming along to the radio. A couple of minutes later he was parked and walking into a convenient store. The room was poorly lit, and Cliff frowned at the inconvenience. But he continued towards the cooled beverages. His sister-in-law and her family would probably want snacks. How old was Stuart? Kids his age liked snacks, whatever age that was. He grabbed a few bags of cookies and a Bubbler, a carbonated orange drink, the leading one on the market. Its logo was Cliff’s favorite.
He went up to the cash register and placed the items on the counter, walking past the rows of merchandise, their labels crying out for his attention.
“Ah, Bubbler,” the cashier said with a soft voice. He was a thin man, quite unimposing. The opposite of my brother-in-law, Cliff thought.
“Yeah, one of my favorites,” Cliff said. He grinned and pointed at the logo, “I love that little picture.”
“The one with the juice spinning out of the orange?” the cashier asked.
“Yeah that one,” Cliff said.
“That is pretty neat,” the cashier said. He grabbed Cliff’s items and checked them out. “So, you picking up someone from the port?”
“The in-law and her husband and kid.”
“Yeah, everyone stops here on their way there or back. I’m guessing all the cookies are for them?” The cashier rang up the total.
Cliff swiped his PortScreen over the scanner. “Yes they are. Haven’t seen them in a while.”
“How old’s the kid?”
Cliff looked up from taking his things off the counter. “He’s, uh, seventeen by Earth standards.”
The cashier nodded.
“What’s his name?”
Cliff cocked an eyebrow at the thin man. His soft voice made the question seem more invasive. Cliff didn’t like it. Slowly, he said, “His name’s, uh, Stuart.”
The cashier nodded again. He looked away from Cliff, making him wonder whether or not the conversation was over.
“You’re not going to get them all drinks, too?” he finally said.
“Hmm, no,” Cliff responded. He stood up straighter, clutching his bag of things. “Have a nice day.”
“You too.”
Feeling the cashier’s eyes still on him, Cliff walked out of the convenient store to where his car was parked. He shuddered slightly. Really skinny people were like that; they made you feel uncomfortable, like you were supposed to offer them some food or something. He got back into his car and looked at the clock.
The stop had killed the appropriate amount of time. Cliff smiled to himself. Time to pick them up.
He was back on the way in less than a minute, playing his Rhi Adams album. The Fergessons had just landed. Cliff loved having visitors. He had just turned forty. Time to start having them before they all start dying off, he thought. That’s what happens when you get older.
The spaceport was about twenty-five minutes away. He got there a little sooner. The two-level building obstructed the view of the horizon—a large two levels. Smaller bus-carts hovered inside, carrying people to and away from their terminals. Cliff parked the car and went inside. He had arrived at the perfect time. The Fergessons were getting off one of the carts as he walked up, each one carrying a small SpaceCase, their luggage.
“Hi, Cliff!” Brenda shouted. She ran up and hugged him.
“Hey, Brenda,” he smiled and hugged her back. “Brian, how are you? And, Stu!”
The men shook hands, followed by Cliff and Stuart.
“Congratulations on finishing basic,” Cliff said.
“Thanks,” Stuart said.
“Come on, let’s get out of here,” Brian boomed. “We’ve been traveling for days! I want to get that last car ride over with.”
“All right, right this way,” Cliff beckoned.
“Oh, Cliff,” Brenda said. “Where’s Jody?”
“He’s at home. He didn’t want to sit through the ride.”
“That makes two of us,” Brian grumbled.
Brenda popped her husband on the arm. They left the building and walked to Cliff’s car. She said, “Well, how’s he been doing? Has he missed us? You know he’s always welcome back home.”
“He’s fine, and thank you, guys. It means a lot, really. Now, I have to ask, what about you, Stuart? Was the trip all right?”
Stuart crossed his arms, embarrassed. “Yeah, I was fine.”
Before they all stepped into the hover car, Cliff looked at both Brian and Brenda for confirmation. They each nodded at him. “No incidents,” Brenda said.
Stuart’s face turned red. It felt like it was on fire.
“So, Stu,” Cliff went on. “What happened?”
“I had PSFA.”
“Post Space Flight Anxiety.” Brian said. “Apparently it’s pretty common.”
“So you were scared to get on the ship?”
“Apparently, yes,” Stuart frowned. “The previous trip here had spooked me or something.”
“His psychiatric make-up didn’t handle seeing so much empty space in all directions. The memory spooked him and he repressed it. He was bound to have an attack before the next flight.”
“Wow,” Cliff said. “I’ve just never heard of that happening.”
Stuart wished he could have fallen through the floor of the hover car. They were out on the highway. If he did fall through, maybe some car would hit him and put him out of his misery—he’d just have to hope he didn’t go through that car, too.
“It was so scary,” Brenda said. “I had no idea that could happen.”
“It wasn’t that bad,” Stuart said.
“Oh, yes it was!” Brian boomed. “Remember? You thought there was no ground.”
Cliff chuckled. He regretted it.
Brenda scolded him. “Don’t laugh, it was scary!”
“It happens to one in a million people. We’re not meant for space! Most can handle it, but some of us just have that kind of reaction.”
“You’re right, Stu,” Brenda said. She patted her son. “Let’s just be glad we made it on time.”
“What’d they do for you?” Cliff asked. “Hey, by the way, thanks for still coming, Stu. That had to be rough, but Jody will be real happy to see you.”
“No problem,” Stuart huffed. “They put me on a medication.”
“Good, good,” Cliff said, nodding his head.
They were all silent for a few minutes as the car drove them home. While his parents and Cliff were admiring the scenery, Stuart asked, “Speaking of one in a million chances.”
“Yeah?” Cliff asked.
“If I can get PSFA, aren’t you worried your car will kill you?”
“Stuart!” Brenda exclaimed. “That’s not an okay question to ask.”
Brian and Cliff chuckled. “Brian told me about this,” his uncle said. “Stuart, the chan
ce is a whole lot smaller than one in a million.”
“It happens every day,” Stuart retorted.
“Almost every day. Stuart, there are twenty billion people, and—“ he meant to go on, but Stuart cut him off.
“I know all that, but still it’s going to happen to someone every day. And how do you feel about the status total? That’s what it’s called, right?”
“Yeah, that’s what it’s called,” Cliff said. “What about it?”
“You’re fine with some people having more points than you, and having the car run into you because of that?”
“Well, it’s the best way to do it. Would you let a doctor die instead of a cashier?”
“I don’t know.”
“It’s called utilitarian morality, Stu,” Brian said. “The car has to choose which outcome minimizes damage. And besides, the wrecks aren’t always lethal, right, Cliff?”
“Yep,” Cliff said. “I love it. You guys sound like such off-worlders. Look, Stu. Accidents happen, and this is the way Earth and many other major planetary systems have it. Vehicles aren’t piloted by untrained persons. You are less likely to die in this type of transport society than any other—far less, in fact. If you were so scared, why didn’t you have another reaction, huh? Why’d you get in this car?”
“Hey,” Stuart said. “That’s not funny.”
“Sorry, sorry,” Cliff said. “Well, I think the ride has gone smoothly. What about you two?”