"I hate Mom,” I say. He doesn't scold me. After all, what she did, she did to both of us.
It seems like the whole town is here, though I know this can't be right because it's the first time I've come since I was a kid, and that would be statistically improbable if we were the only ones who never came back, but, even though I am certain it's not the whole town, I'd have to say it's pretty close to it. Funny how in all these faces and noise and excitement I can see who's wearing locks of hair lockets as if they are made of shining light, which of course they are not. I could forgive her, I think—and I'm surprised by the tears in my eyes—if she'd just do the right thing and turn herself in. Maybe I'm not being fair. After all, maybe she's trapped somewhere, held prisoner by some Agent and there's nothing she can do about it. I, too, take comfort in this little fantasy from time to time.
Each execution is done individually. She walks across the entire field in a hood. The walk takes a long time ‘cause of the shackles. I can think of no reasonable explanation for the hood, beyond suspense. It is very effective. The beginning of the walk is a good time to take a bathroom break or get a snack, that's how long it takes. No one wants to be away from his seat when the criminal gets close to the red circle at the center of the field. The closer she gets to the circle (led by one of the Junior Agents, or, as is the case tonight, by one of the children from the town's various civic programs) the more quiet it gets until eventually the only noise is the sound of chains. I've heard this on screen a million times but then there is neighborhood noise going on, cars, maybe someone talking on a cell, dogs barking, that sort of thing, but when the event is live there's no sound other than maybe a cough or a baby crying. I have to tell you all those people in the same space being quiet, the only sound the chains rattling around the criminal's ankles and wrists, well it's way more powerful than how it seems on screen. She always stands for a few seconds in the center of the circle but she rarely stands still. Once placed in position, hands and feet shackled, she displays her fear by wavering, or the shoulders go up, sometimes she is shaking so bad you can see it even if you're not looking on screen.
The child escort walks away to polite applause and the Executioner comes to position. He unties the hood, pauses for dramatic effect (and it is dramatic!) then plucks the hood off, which almost always causes some of her hair to stand out from her head, as though she's been electrocuted, or taken off a knit cap on a snowy day, and at that moment we turn to the screen to get a closer look. I never get bored of it. The horror on their faces, the dripping nostrils, the spit bubbling from lips, the eyes wet with tears, wide with terror. Occasionally there is a stoic one, but there aren't many of these, and when there is, it's easy enough to look away from the screen and focus on the big picture. What had she been thinking? How could she murder someone so tiny, so innocent, and not know she'd have to pay? When I think of what the time from before was like I shudder and thank God for being born in the Holy Times. In spite of my mother, I am blessed. I know this, even though I sometimes forget. Right there, in the football field bleachers, I fold my hands and bow my head. When I am finished my father is giving me a strange look. “If this is too upsetting we can leave,” he says. He constantly makes mistakes like this. Sometimes I just ignore him, but this time I try to explain. “I just realized how lucky I am.” I can't think of what else to say, how to make him understand, so I simply smile. Right then the stoic woman is shot. When I look I see the gaping maw that was her head, right where that evil thought was first conceived to destroy the innocent life that grew inside her. Now she is neither stoic nor alive. She lies in a heap, twitching for a while, but those are just nerves.
It's getting late. Some people use this time to usher their young children home. When we came, all those years ago, my mom letting me play with her gold chain while I sat in her lap, we were one of the first to leave, though I was not the youngest child in attendance. My mother was always strict that way. “Time for bed,” she said cheerfully, first to me, and then by way of explanation, pressing my head tight against her shoulder, trying to make me look tired, pressing so hard that I started crying, which, I now realize, served her purpose.
My father says he has to use the bathroom. There is a pocket of space around me when he leaves. My father is gone a long time. This is unusual for the men's bathroom and I must admit I get a little worried about him, especially as the woman approaches the target circle but right when I am starting to think he's going to be too late, he comes, his head bent low so as not to obstruct the view. He sits beside me at what is the last possible second. He shrugs and looks like he's about to say something. Horrified, I turn away. It would be just like him to talk at a time like this.
The girl (from the Young and Beautiful club) dressed all in white with a flower wreath on her head (and a locks-of-hair locket glimmering on her chest) walks away from the woman. The tenor of applause grows louder as the Executioner approaches. We are trying to show how much we've appreciated his work tonight. The Executioners are never named. They travel in some kind of secret rotation so no one can ever figure it out, but over time they get reputations. They wear masks, of course, or they would always be hounded for autographs, but are recognized, when they are working, by the insignia on their uniforms. This one is known as Red Dragon for the elaborate dragon on his chest. The applause can be registered on the criminal who shakes like Jell-O. She shakes so much that it is not unreasonable to wonder if she will be one of the fainters. I hate the fainters. They mess with the dramatic arc, all that buildup of the long walk, the rattling chains, the Executioner's arrival, only to have the woman fall in a large heap on the ground. Sometimes it takes forever to revive her, and some effort to get her to stand, at which point the execution is anticlimactic.
The Executioner, perhaps sensing this very scenario, says something to Jell-O woman that none of us can hear but she suddenly goes still. There is scattered applause for Red Dragon's skill. He turns toward the audience, and, though he wears his mask, there is something in his demeanor that hushes the crowd. We are watching a master at work. Next, he steps in front of the woman, reaches with both hands around her neck, creating the effect of a man about to give a kiss. We are all as still as if we are waiting for that kiss. With one gesture, he unties the string, and in the same breath reaches up and pulls off the hood. We gasp.
Mrs. Offeren's face fills the screen. Someone screams. I think it is Jenna. I am torn between looking for her in the crowd, and keeping my attention on her mother, whose head turns at the sound so there is only a view of her giant ear but the Executioner says something sharp and she snaps her head back to attention. The screen betrays that her eyes peer past the Executioner, first narrow then wide, and her lips part at the moment she realizes she is home. Her eyes just keep moving after that, searching the crowd, looking for Jenna, I figure, until suddenly, how can it be suddenly when it happens like this every time, but it is suddenly, her head jerks back with the firecracker sound of the shot, she falls from the screen. She lies on the ground, twitching, the red puddle blossoming around her head. Jenna screams and screams. It is my impression that no one does anything to stop her. Nor does anyone use this break to go to the snack shop, or the bathroom, or home. I don't know when my father's hand has reached across the space between us but at some point I realize it rests, gently, on my thigh, when I look at him, he squeezes, lightly, almost like a woman would, as though there is no strength left inside him. They quickly cut some of Mrs. Offeren's hair before it gets too bloody, and bag it, lift her up, clumsily so that at first her arm and then her head falls toward the ground (the assistants are tired by this time of night) and load her into the cart. We listen to the sound of the wheels that need to be oiled and the faint rattle of chains as the cart lumbers across the field. Jenna weeps audibly. The center of the red circle is coated in blood. I pretend it is a Rorschach and decide it looks exactly like a pterodactyl. The cleaning crew comes and hoses it down. That's when people start moving about, talk, rush to the
bathroom, take sleeping children home, but it goes mostly silent again when the Offeren family stands up. The seven of them sidle down the bleachers and walk along the side of the field.
I watch the back of Jenna's head, her blonde curls under the lights, almost golden like a halo, though no one, not even the most forgiving person, is ever going to mistake Jenna for someone holy. Her mother was a murderer, after all. Yet I realize she'll soon replace that stupid fake locket with a real one while I have nothing. She might even get to marry a Police or a trash collector, even a teacher, while the best I can hope for is a position at one of the orphanages. My dad's idea that I might be a breeder someday seems highly optimistic.
"Let's go,” I say.
"Are you sure? Maybe the next one....” But he doesn't even finish the thought. He must see something in my face that tells him I am done with childish fantasies.
She's never coming back. Whatever selfish streak caused her, all those years ago, to kill one child is the same selfish streak that allows her to abandon me now.
We walk down the bleachers. Everyone turns away from us, holding their little kids close. My father walks in front of me, with his head down, his hands in his pockets. By the time we get to the car in the parking lot we can hear the polite applause from the football field as another woman enters the circle. He opens his door. I open mine. We drive home in silence. I crane my neck to try to look up at the sky as if I expect to find something there, God maybe, or the living incarnation of the blood pterodactyl, but of course I see neither. There is nothing. I close my eyes and think of my mother. Oh, how I miss her.
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Novelet: Planetesimal Dawn by Tim Sullivan
Tim Sullivan, the only winner of Nobel Prizes in both Physics and Literature, is currently a United States Senator and a former Mr. Universe as well as the recipient of several MacArthur “genius” grants. “Without resorting to a rodomontade, I must point out that these accomplishments are all the more astonishing,” writes George F. Will, “because Sullivan has an I.Q. of only 78.” Mr. Sullivan has published seven novels, two anthologies, and thirty-odd (some would say very odd) short stories and novelettes. He currently resides in Miami with his partner, Fiona Kelleghan, who is herself no slouch in the literary field, as will be seen when her anthology, The Savage Humanists, is published later this year.
In case you didn't guess, Mr. Sullivan (unlike Mr. Utley) could not resist an opportunity to provide his own blurb. Fortunately, his new story speaks for itself.
It was the most dangerous place on the asteroid.
"Why don't we just go back?” Wolverton asked.
"Because we can't,” Nozaki said. “The sun's coming up."
"Yeah, but we've got insulated suits."
"Not enough."
This wasn't the best day to be base camp security chief, Nozaki thought. They stood next to the rover, watching the searing dawn advance across the curved horizon. The rover had died on them, and Nozaki had worked on it as long as she could. The dawn was too close. They had to get moving.
"But we can't go the other way,” Wolverton said. “It's suicide."
"It's the only chance we've got. We'll die for sure if we go back on foot through that hell."
"What about the samples?” Wolverton asked, looking mournfully at the labeled rocks in the rover's boot. He was a geo-areologist who'd just been assigned to base camp. He had been a loner since he got to LGC-1, and playing nursemaid to him on this field trip had made Nozaki understand why. “I spent all this time collecting them."
"They're not going anywhere, but we are."
The red giant Gamma Crucis was burning up the landscape right in front of them. They'd been caught too far away from base camp at dawn, and now their only hope was to stay ahead of the sunlight.
"We can't walk the entire surface and get back to base before the next dawn,” Wolverton said, despair in his voice.
"We've got to try,” Nozaki replied. “Maybe we better save our breath and walk."
They turned and started moving away from the dawn.
Ahead of them was the asteroid's dark, barren landscape. It curved abruptly into nowhere. Clustered stars seemed close enough to touch, but they provided no light on the surface. It was like stepping into the abyss.
"Why can't we talk to base?” Wolverton said, ignoring Nozaki's broad hint that he should shut up.
"The sun's radiation is interfering, and we're over the horizon,” Nozaki explained. “With the flyby down, there's nothing to bounce the signal off."
"There's no chance they can hear us?"
"Maybe they're picking us up intermittently, but we're not getting anything from them, so I doubt it."
"If they do hear us, they'll send the flyby, won't they?"
"I don't think they can.” She was getting impatient with Wolverton. “I doubt they've got it fixed by now. The rover's probably gone out for the same reason, an unusually large burst of radiation from GC's hydrogen shell. We're just going to have to hoof it."
"Oh, God,” Wolverton moaned.
"Walk!” Nozaki said.
Her stern tone seemed to sober the panicky Wolverton. He glanced at her through his visor, but he didn't say anything.
Nozaki quickened her pace so that Wolverton would do the same.
They had a long way to go. But with the light gravity, it was the equivalent of only a few kilometers, and they could make it if they were determined enough. Each stride took them ten to twelve meters. At first it had been a disorientating sensation, almost like flying. It had been fun. Tonight it was a survival necessity.
After half an hour or so, Nozaki ventured a look back at the encroaching sunrise. She saw that they were keeping ahead of it, maybe even gaining some ground. That was good, but they weren't all that tired yet. They would have to run and leap for many more hours before they would reach base camp.
A little over two hours passed before they came to the mound.
"That's not supposed to be here,” Wolverton said.
This time Nozaki didn't shush him, because he was right. What was this thing they'd landed on with their last jump?
"It looks like gravel,” Nozaki said. She saw the mound's shadow looming to cut off the star field.
"But this asteroid's supposed to be as round and smooth as a ball bearing."
"Yeah.” Nozaki took a breath and leaped forward, landing about halfway toward the top of the mound.
A moment later, Wolverton came down a few feet from her, his knees bending under the light impact of his landing. He was only a vague shadow in the dark, but Nozaki was glad to know he was keeping up with her.
It was shaped as if the ground had been dug up and banked.
"This is all we need,” Nozaki said. “Hills to slow us down."
Wolverton didn't comment. He jumped and landed on the mound's rounded summit.
Nozaki followed. She didn't get quite as far as Wolverton, and when she took a few steps forward, she was very pleased that she hadn't gone farther.
"It's not a mound,” she said.
It was a crater, and they were standing on the rim.
"It's big,” said Wolverton. “Very big."
He was right. It was impossible to see just how big, but the concave slope descended into darkness so steeply that Nozaki suspected it might be several kilometers in diameter.
"Now what?” Wolverton asked.
Nozaki looked behind her. She could see the merciless sunrise coming.
"Now we jump,” she said.
"Can't we go around it?"
"There's no time."
Wolverton turned to see for himself.
"Well, I'm not going to lack for something to drink,” Wolverton said. “I just emptied my bladder."
"Good,” Nozaki said. She did the same, counting on the liquid processor to distill her urine and extract the water for drinking later. If it failed, she would die of thirst. “You're going to need it."
"No sense standing around here
,” Wolverton said.
He jumped into the crater. Nozaki was surprised that he'd had the nerve to go first. Wolverton was adapting pretty well after his initially fearful reaction.
She followed him, leaping into the crater. For a few seconds she could see starlight, but then she fell into the rim's shadow.
There was no light at all. She seemed to be sailing in a void, and it felt as if she'd never come down. But at last she did, landing softly and rolling down the inside rim of the crater. She couldn't see Wolverton but she could hear him grunting and panting.
It seemed as if she would roll down that slope forever.
But at last the incline graduated into a more level surface and she stopped. She lay on her side, trying to catch her breath for a moment. She wondered if she'd been hurt during the ascent, but she felt no pain.
"Wolverton?” she said.
"Yeah?"
"Are you okay?"
"I think so. You?"
"I'm fine.” She got to her knees and looked around. There was nothing but blackness. Only if she looked up could she see anything, and then only stars. She got to her feet.
"We can't be very far from each other,” she said. “I don't want to waste the batteries, but I'm going to turn on the beacon lamp on my helmet so you can see me. Stay alert now. Ready?"
"Uh-huh."
FSF, October-November 2008 Page 22