by Jay Allan
But she had other things more pressing to worry about. Like the key that lay sealed in its paper envelope. Esther lifted the cool, smooth paper up closer to her face. She took a breath, paused, then opened the envelope, breaking a thin plasticene seal that instantly shattered, falling to the floor Inside, a single sheet of cream paper, folded into thirds. She spread the paper flat, willing herself to look at the name.
Inside, written neatly in blue ink: Engineer #3, Plant #2.
She didn't even know how old they were, or if they were male or female, or if they had children or a loving companion at home, but this was the person she would now go and kill.
9.
Richard Xiao woke abruptly, startled to find himself on the verge of falling off of his small, single mattress yet again. He really ought to go and purchase a double, given his height, but ever since his wife had passed away unexpectedly seven years ago, he'd been unable to sleep in anything but beds meant to hold a single person—nothing more.
He was fairly certain that there was a great deal of psychological literature on the subject, but he didn't need to see a shrink to know that his coping methods left much to be desired. Still, most nights he did sleep, at least well enough to wake the next morning, get Amelia off to school, and make it to his job down at the plant.
He rolled over and saw that it was still the middle of the night. Richard felt vaguely unsettled, as if a prickling chill were working its way up the base of his spine, slowly spreading uneasiness until it reached his upper back and then inched its way across his shoulders. His grandmother had a word for this feeling—he remembered her talking about the uncanny knowledge that someone was talking about you as having someone "walking over your grave."
The saying had never made much sense to Richard before, in part because he failed to understand why someone would ever choose to be placed whole into the ground to slowly decompose, rotting away in the guts of various bacteria and wriggling worms. No one on NuO had ever been buried that he was aware of. The cleanliness of cremation and the peaceful image of being released on the winds that swept across the hills overlooking Pendle and riding their currents out over NuO—this was how to take care of such things. Still, that night, he felt for the first time that he understood what his grandmother had meant.
Determining that sleep would not be arriving any time soon, Richard made the decision to go and check on Amelia. He knew that if she was aware of the fact that he still checked on her in the middle of the night that she would protest vehemently against his paternal protectionism. And he had to admit that she would be right: she was far too old for her father to be worrying about her sleeping habits, middle-of-the-night or otherwise.
But he couldn't help himself. He cracked the door to her bedroom and peeked inside.
Her bedroom always reminded him of his wife. There was something about the way Amelia organized her possessions, carefully creating a sense of order as she stacked her clothing, placed her various tech screens out of harm's way upon an upper shelf, and displayed her mementos, that evoked Claire's own organizational efforts in their home. At the time, Richard had greatly resented the various encroachments onto his personal habits. Now, he found that he missed the hundreds of small ways she had held their lives together, organizational strategies included.
His gaze swept across Amelia's room, willing the items to remain in their familiar places, not wanting to see anything amiss, awry, or askew. Her desk, normally tidy, was currently strewn with tablets, vid-screens, and readers from the library. Richard frowned. He knew that Amelia had been studying a lot lately, especially with her qualifiers coming up, but it wasn’t like her to leave things tossed haphazardly about before she went to bed. His eyes quickly crossed the room, straining to see her bed against the thick darkness. The pit of his stomach dropped.
The bed was empty.
10.
Calm down, Richard told himself.
It wasn’t working.
The last time a bed had been empty in his house, the last time he had come upon an unexpectedly vacant pillow, the last time ... the last time hadn’t gone well. He struggled to keep images of Claire, face down along the ground, out of his mind.
Amelia was not Claire.
Amelia was not dead.
Amelia was ... well, he wasn’t sure where she was, to be truthful. But he was highly unlikely to figure out what was going on here if he didn’t get himself working again.
Richard stretched his arm out in front of him to clear his way as he entered the darkened room. He watched the arm extend, enter into the shadow, and somewhere in his brain small alarm bells began ringing again, tingling against his skin. It was as if he needed to re-connect his brain and his limbs, because they really weren’t working well together right now. Stiffly, Richard forced himself to think, move, and respond like a normal human being. He stepped into the room.
He knew that if anything was truly wrong—if, say, Amelia had become lost on her way home (Ridiculous!) or if there had been a gang of murderous thugs who had accosted her in the street (A gang of thugs? Where do you think you are? Earth?) or if she had somehow fallen and hurt herself while out running along the trail (Possible ...) that, in the long run, it would all work out.
The local police had clear and ready access not only to the latest tech, thanks to Pendle’s favorable location by the quadrant’s convent, but also the convent’s own optics network via the Panopt. Sure, there were people who complained from time to time about how the Panopt system could see and track individual movements, archiving their lives on the apparently endless drive towers built into the very stone that, beneath the layers and layers of plasticene, formed the ultimate foundation for the building.
But to Richard, the knowledge that the data generated through the living of his life was not lost forever had provided peace of mind. He liked knowing that there were answers. That if a need should arise, proper procedure could be followed, and, ultimately, the story would be known.
One of the reasons he and Claire had picked Pendle to begin with was the well-known security and safety provided by the Panopt. You had to have a good reason to access the information, but the information was there, and that was the important thing. And a missing daughter, especially after the unusual loss of a young spouse—that was important. The police would help him. They would find Amelia, and she would be fine.
These were the thoughts that swirled in Richard’s mind as he stepped inside his daughter’s bedroom, groping against the wall for the light panel. There it was. He punched it high, and bright, white light streamed evenly and instantly from the ceiling panel.
“Dad!”
Richard jumped at the sound, in spite of the immediate relief that flooded his entire body. He twisted his head around, looking for the source of the extremely annoyed voice.
“Argh! What are— Why are you in here?! Turn that blasted light off!”
“Sorry! Uh, sorry,” Richard mumbled as he complied. “I couldn’t see you, and I was worried ...”
“Ugh. Sorry Dad. I must have fallen asleep while studying. I am so worn out—I don’t remember.”
“What were you doing studying on the floor?” Richard asked. He had finally figured out where Amelia was—she had somehow fallen asleep on the floor between her bed and her desk. Which was why Richard had failed to see her when he opened the door: she had been completely hidden from view.
“I was tired of sitting there at the desk, and I had to go through two vids for History and one for Politics and Rhetoric and I just figured I might as well be comfortable while skimming through them, so I lay down here. Don’t worry; Mr. Totoro kept me safe.”
Richard could hear the wry grin behind Amelia’s words as she gathered herself together and got up from the floor. It was dark again, but Richard could see her short, dark hair sticking out at odd angles, caught in the light from the hallway. She raised a ratty stuffed toy—more gray blob at this point than anything else—above her head, and Richard couldn’t help but
smile. This was his Amelia: seventeen, studious (to a fault, it might seem after tonight’s events), and still irrationally attached to a child’s toy. She knew it was silly; that’s what made the whole thing so incredibly endearing.
“I’m sorry I woke you, sweetheart. I was just worried, you know? I just wanted to make sure you were ok,” Richard explained.
“I know, Dad. Don’t worry. It’s fine. I’ll go sleep in my bed like a normal human being. And you go to bed too—don’t you have a double shift tomorrow?”
Richard groaned internally at the thought, but he knew she was right. Engineer #12, Plant #2. Plast Inc. That was him. “Yeah,” he replied. “I’d better get some sleep too. Night.” He turned to leave, then found himself attacked by a sudden bear hug.
“Night, Dad. Love you much,” a sleepy Amelia whispered.
“Night, Amy-kins.” He kissed the top of her head, then carefully disentangled himself from her soon-to-be-asleep arms. He watched as she flopped down onto her bed, her breathing sinking into a familiar deep rhythm almost instantly. Everything was fine. Everything and everyone was in their place.
So why, Richard thought as he stumbled sleepily towards his own bedroom, Why does it feel like something is really, really wrong here?
He lay down on his bed. Richard still couldn’t shake the anxious sensation that something had changed, that things were not as they seemed. Perhaps he was just still nervous from scaring himself half silly thinking that Amelia had vanished in the middle of the night. But deep down, he knew that wasn’t it. That earlier thing with Amelia—he’d been working himself up, responding to the vague discomfort that had woken him up to begin with.
He sighed, hoping for sleep. It was a long time coming.
11.
Bacon. Richard was definitely smelling bacon. Hearing it too.
He rolled out of bed, scratching and stretching in the gray morning light. After a good five minutes of scratching and one cavernous yawn, he shuffled off to the bathroom to take care of a few things.
“Daaaaad—I’m making you breaaakfaaaast!” called out an amazingly chipper Amelia.
“I’ll be there in a few. Thanks,” he replied groggily.
Fifteen minutes later, a clean and awake Richard was sitting next to his daughter, listening as she chattered on about the tests she was taking today, her plans to study with her friends after school, and her requests for money. Richard shook his head. The irrational anxiety from last night seemed almost insignificant. He was lucky to have such a good kid. Sometimes late at night, things just were more overwhelming than they were in the day.
“So, what do you think?” questioned Amelia.
“Umm ...” Richard trailed off.
“Dad! Listen, this is important—I can’t enroll in the Flight Path without your consent.”
“Are you sure that’s what you want to do? I mean, I know we’ve talked about it, but the thought of you up there at the launch station for so long on rotation—”
“Dad, you do know I’m turning eighteen in two weeks, right?”
Richard shuddered in mock horror, causing Amelia to giggle. He’d known this time was coming, but it was all so fast. He just couldn’t reconcile his bright, intelligent daughter with his image of a space jockey up there in the upper stratosphere, flying in maneuvers, shooting up collision-course asteroids, and generally just being so far from home.
All of Amelia’s early career assessment testing had pointed towards a more theoretical field—perhaps law, or even the convent. But after Claire’s passing, Amelia had shifted subtly away from the more passive Paths, concentrating instead on the active maths and conditionings. All of which ultimately led to a conversation about 6 months ago, in which she had told Richard of her plans to follow the Flight Path and become a defensive pilot.
It made financial sense—the military incentives for the Flight Path were not small—and she seemed to be pretty sure of herself. She’d always been that way, though, even when she was little. Once she made a decision, she stuck with it, no matter how difficult. Which, of course, would make her a good space pilot.
Richard sighed. “I know,” he said, admitting defeat. He walked over to the vid-screen embedded in the wall next to the front door and waved his hand in front of it to wake it up. “Richard Xiao,” he began, “Parental Permission form for Amelia Xiao, Pendle Upper PS number 2654.” The form appeared, blinking red to indicate its priority. He should have signed this thing weeks ago. “Sign,” he said. “Authorization RX473-06-8992. I, Richard Xiao, give permission for my daughter, Amelia Xiao, to enter the Flight Path. March 57th, 3014. Archive.”
“Thanks Dad,” Amelia grinned. “You’re the best.”
He winked at her. “That’s right, flattery will get you everywhere.”
“Pretty much. In fact, I’m thinking of having that etched onto the walls here. It really is the life lesson I’m taking from our humble home.” She smothered a laugh in spite of herself.
“Get out of here, smarty. You’re going to miss the shuttle.”
Amelia threw her dishes into the sink. The sharp clattering of plasticene made Richard wince. She gave him a quick but enthusiastic hug, and darted out the door.
“Bye, Dad! See you for dinner!” she called back. Normal kid. Normal morning. Richard settled back into his chair to flick through the morning vids. The sharp buzzing of his wire cut through the calm.
“Hello?” Richard answered as he tapped the implant beneath his left ear.
“Hey, Richard? That you?” a gravelly voice returned.
“Hey, John. Course it’s me. You wired me, remember? Or you gettin’ so old now that all this tech’s just too much for you?” Needling John about his age now that he had passed fifty was one of Richard’s small life pleasures. They had been coworkers for several years down at the plant before John had, out of the blue, asked Richard if he’d like to go fishing with him and some friends one weekend. Richard had thought the request a little odd since they weren’t really that close, but it ended up being fantastic. One of those little turning points around which a close friendship had unexpectedly developed. John listened to Richard without complaint, even when all Richard wanted to do was talk about Claire. And Richard helped take care of John. He was always getting into scrapes it seemed—he would try anything once, and that tendency had gotten him on a first-name basis with the company doctors.
“Hmph,” John snorted. “Not likely. I’ll outlive you, and you know it. Besides, isn’t it blasphemous to suggest that there’s such a thing as too much tech?”
“You know that isn’t what I said.” Even though Richard knew John was kidding, and knew that the Panopt archives were meant to ensure the safety of the people of NuO, it still made him irrationally nervous to think that somehow someone, somewhere, would misunderstand their innocuous friendly banter, should it ever be screened, as somehow un-Faithful.
And then they really would have something to worry about.
“You know, for someone who’s always spouting off praising the Great Conglomerate God, you’re awfully jumpy today,” John observed.
“Sorry—rough night. It’s fine; just up too late,” Richard explained, hedging his bets that John wouldn’t pry unless Richard offered more details.
“Too bad. I was hoping you could maybe help me out today ...” began John.
“What did you do this time?”
“Well, you know Javier?”
“Yeah.” Richard did not know Javier, but he had learned by now just to acknowledge and move on.
“So, Javi has this cousin who’s got a private liftship, the kind that can go ground to upper atmosphere in sixty seconds flat. And he was going out of town, past the convent, to do some jumping, and Javi thought it might be fun....”
After several minutes, Richard thought he had pieced together the details: John had jumped, landed wrong (again), and tore up his leg. The doctor had fixed him up, but the regrowth hormones were going to take another day or two before they really became
effective. And since John was scheduled during Richard’s second shift today at the plant anyway, he was hoping that maybe Richard wouldn’t mind checking in on his line and covering for him, again. And he would owe Richard. Again.
Richard swallowed a sigh. “Yeah, I’ll cover for you, but you definitely owe me. Working two jobs on my second shift—it’s a good thing your job is so cushy that even a kid could do it. Take your meds and grow that leg, because I’m off tomorrow.” As close as he and John were, sometimes it just rubbed him the wrong way when he acted like the universe owed him help. But then again, he’d come through for Richard before too, too many times to count. He really must be tired, to get so edgy about something as simple as covering for John. Again.
“Thanks, man. I really do owe you one.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Richard paused. “Look, I gotta go. I signed permission for Amelia to enter the Flight Path today, and I want to get her something to celebrate for later. See ya’.” He tapped off the wire without even waiting for John’s reply.
12.
Richard was tired. His second shift had started a few hours ago, and while, for the most part, he’d been able to complete his own responsibilities as well as cover for John (at least enough that John’s absence wouldn’t cause too many difficulties), he still felt like a wreck. Every time things would calm down and he’d have a minute to himself, he’d notice some new nervous tic that had started up. Scratching his elbows. Tapping his feet. A twitch in his right eye.