by Nathan Dodge
“You’ve got the droid.”
“If it fails and you’re down in jump isolation, I couldn’t get you to the infirmary. If you’re in the medical pod, I have diagnostics, manipulators, injectors, all at my beck and call.”
“You won’t need them.”
“Please. Make it easier on us both.”
Her request made sense. He wanted to rail at Molly, but it wasn’t her fault; it was his own. He had refused a desk job for years. What had happened was just exactly what the medics said would happen—sooner to some, much later to extremely well-suited individuals like Kessick.
“Okay, damn it. Send the droid down.”
“It’s at your door.”
He insisted on tottering by himself, but the droid stalked him all the way to the infirmary. He entered, crossed to the pod, and sat in its side opening.
The droid joined him, concern visible even on the inflexible face. “How do you feel?”
“Like crap. But I’m here, where you wanted me. God, I hate the infirmary.”
“I know. Thank you.”
Kessick lay back slightly and swiveled into the pod, settling into a prone position. He felt the edge of unconsciousness looming. The droid’s face began to blur. Feeling a sudden pang of regret, he said, “I’m sorry, Molly, I’ve been an ass lately. It’s just … My knee, the pulser replacement, everything seems to be going south. I’m sorry. I’m….”
As he faded, he heard Molly say, “I know, Cal. I know.”
* * *
Light. Shadows. A vague face. Darkness.
Light, shadows, a vague face, darkness.
Lightshadowsavaguefacedarkness.
Darkness.
* * *
Light.
Kessick opened his eyes to featureless forms. He strained to focus. Gradually the upper edge of the medical pod came into indistinct view. The display above held a picture, but he couldn’t get it to stabilize.
“Molly.” At least, that’s what he tried to say. Instead, it came out “Moh-ee,” as though he were forcing his lips to open and close in a vat of paste. Something moved into view, swimming into the same not-quite focus. The medical droid.
“You’re awake.”
He tried to reply. “Yeah. Uh, cannht, uh speck.”
“Shhh. Cal, do you understand me?”
It was as though the droid’s speaker was about twenty feet away. Clearly she couldn’t understand him, or at least had not caught his few muttered words so far. “Yeh, uh unduh.” The words wouldn’t come.
“It’s okay. Don’t try to talk. We made the jump, Cal. It went well, except for you. You had another—incident. There’s brain trauma, like you had a stroke, except jump-related.”
“How bad?” Except, it came out “Hoh buh?”
This time, the droid nodded as though Molly had interpreted his sounds. “You need to sleep while I work on you. Though I’m glad you’re conscious for a minute.” Her voice sounded strained.
Kessick tried to sit up. Nothing happened. Try as he might, he couldn’t move.
“Um paruh, parizd!”
The words came out as a wail. Molly might not understand, but she could interpret. “Don’t try to move. Won’t do any good right now. For now, just sleep. Sleep, and get better.”
He tried to lift a hand, crying out, “Molly!” It came out as nothing more than an anguished moan. Vaguely, he saw the droid adjust a drip into his IV, and light faded.
* * *
“Molly?”
Kessick opened his eyes to see the droid bending over him. Then he realized: He had spoken. A bit slushy, but he had spoken.
The droid managed that mini-smile. “You’re able to speak! That’s a big improvement.”
“How bad am I?”
“Could be worse. Could be better.”
“Tell me.”
The droid sighed like Molly. “The main problems are two jump-dislocations in your cerebellum. Since the cerebellum controls motor functions, you are partially paralyzed. You can breathe on your own, but we need to get you home to the specialists.”
Kessick managed to focus on the droid’s eyes. “Probuh …” He stumbled a bit, trying to speak. “Problem is, we got another jump. Molly, can I take another one?”
The smile returned to the droid’s plastic-mask face. “Sure you can. We’ll pressurize the pod with plenty of extra oxygen. You’ll sail through. Now, sleep and let the injections do their work.”
“How long have I been out?”
“Not long. Sleep now, try to recover.”
He slept.
* * *
More periods of light and darkness. His few lucid moments told him that Molly was keeping him under, applying rejuv injections, giving his body time to respond. After what seemed years, he awoke to find himself alone. Experimentally, he tried to raise his right arm. It responded, but his fingers were jerky. The left moved even better, and his fingers wriggled at his bidding. His neck motion seemed normal; he craned it to see the ship chrono, but it was tantalizingly just out of his sight.
“Molly?” He spoke, realizing that he pronounced her name clearly.
The medical droid came into view; it had probably been deactivated just behind the pod. “How do you feel?”
“Better, still paralyzed.”
The droid bent over him. “No movement?”
“Some.” He moved both arms, twitching his fingers.
The droid examined both hands, looked over his body. “You move better.”
“I guess. At least I can talk, but it’s exhausting. And the words seem mushy.”
The droid nodded as Molly continued her examination.
Finally she said, “I need to run more tests. I don’t want to administer more medication until I measure the progress.”
“Or lack of it.”
“Hey, you’re a lot better.”
“Molly, I’m having a little trouble getting my breath.”
The droid stared at displays that Kessick could not see. “Blood oxygen is a bit low. I’ll check on that. You want me to put you out while I do all this stuff? It’ll be boring and take some time.”
“Do I have to go out again? I hate that.”
“Maybe six hours of tests. You want to lie there and be bored?”
“We can talk.”
“You said you’re having trouble breathing. You shouldn’t talk. Some of the tests involve needles, and you hate needles just like you hate the infirmary.”
Kessick tried to stare the droid in the face, but the effort was too great. “Hell, go ahead and put me out. You are so damn bossy.”
“You are so damn whiny.”
“Bully.”
“Crybaby.”
“Diva.”
“Asshole.”
“Bitch.”
Molly paused a few seconds. “If that’s out of your system, let’s get started.”
Kessick jerked his shoulders, a minimal shrug. “Okay. Wake me when I’m well, will you?”
* * *
Molly, in her incarnation as the medical droid, looked down at Kessick. The scans were done, and the news wasn’t good.
Kessick’s organs were failing, especially his heart and nervous system. The cause was three-plus decades of jump dislocations, building up in a particularly fit and jump-resistant body. Some tissue, like fat cells (easily replaceable) and muscle (which quickly regenerated after exercise-induced stress), shrugged off the damage for a long time, particularly in specimens like Kessick. Eventually, however, micro-scarring began to build up. Kessick’s heart and lungs had deteriorated for a long while, but the progress was geometric, not linear.
If they were home now, a good team of jump-trauma medical experts might fix Kessick’s problems, although it would be like trying to put Humpty-Dumpty back together again. With their help, Kessick might enjoy, if that was the proper word, a few more years at a desk, or perhaps living out his days on the retirement home front porch. But his jumping days were over.
Except
that Kessick had one last jump to undergo. Even if he survived, his circulatory system might fail before they could land at Jump Central.
The ship condition wasn’t much better. All deflectors were operational, but the rear number two pulser was showing signs of weakening. It would probably survive another jump, but its operating life was limited. Molly’s processors were solid, the memory banks in good working order. But she was down to her last few jumps as well, and a thirty-year-old controller on a junked jumpship would either be cannibalized or recycled.
Determined to be certain, Molly ran additional scans, focusing on Kessick’s brain and nervous system.
This time she saw something else. Kessick wasn’t breathing hard just because of a damaged heart. His autonomous functions were deteriorating also. Everything from breathing to heartbeat to swallowing and blinking functions were slowing down as that part of his brain activity began to ebb.
His condition was not fragile, but fatal.
Molly stopped the anesthesia flow. In minutes, Kessick’s eyes blinked, his head moving slightly side-to-side. Eyes open, he focused on the droid, managed the tiniest of grins. “Hey, I’m back.” He still spoke clearly, though the sounds were labored.
He lifted his arms, moved them slightly, subsided. “Still can’t move a lot. How’m I doing?”
Molly made the droid smile. “Better. ’Course, you need rest. And we got to get you back home. I’m getting ready to jump, just wanted to let you know. We get you home and you’ll be up and about in no time.” Lying had been hard for Molly to learn, but just like any behavior, it simply took practice.
He frowned. “You really think so?”
“’Course. Your body has been through a lot, so you need to take it easy. With some time off while we get those new pulsers installed, you’ll be ready to go in a month or two.”
“That’ll be great.” His words were still thick, but enthusiasm showed in this voice.
It might take hundreds of her parallel processors to accurately mimic human behavior, but Molly had countless more for other tasks. As she talked via the droid, she calculated final jump coordinates and a new power profile. Quickly she made the changes, modifying the power inputs.
There was a reason jumps ended billions of kilometers from a star. The closer in the jump was made, the more perturbation due to the massive gravitation of even the most modest solar mass. Jump near a star and it was like landing on a very steep slope with nothing to break your fall. Jump very near, and it was like landing in an open well.
Molly whispered W. H. Auden’s words to herself as she adjusted the jump sequence: The stars are not wanted now; put out every one/Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun.
He roused. “What, Molly?”
“Oh, nothing,” she whispered. “Just poetry. I was thinking of writing that poem after all. ‘The stars are not wanted now, put out every one,’” she repeated.
“That’s Auden. A funeral poem. A love poem.”
“I know. It was just to start me out. But then I’d make it my own, I think. Perhaps then I’d say, ‘Our travels complete, hardships unsung/Let go the wheel, and with the Earth have done.’” Her voice tightened. “Do you like my poem, Kessick?”
She saw understanding dawn.
“It’s lovely, Molly,” he said finally. “It’s a perfect ending for us.” His right hand reached out, trembling, and she squeezed it in return.
“I thought so, too,” Molly said. She triggered the countdown. Seconds passed and the countdown neared zero: nine, eight, seven….
“You always take good care of me, Molly,” Kessick said. He squeezed her hand again.
“Well, of course,” Molly made the droid reply. She squeezed back, very gently, as the seconds flew by. “After all, that’s what love is all about.”
Runners
Nathan
Michael could tell something was wrong. Sprawled on one of the benches along the track, Chris stared morosely across the oval of grass, watching a procession of runners and walkers make their way along the circular path.
Usually the sun still peeked over the edges of homes across the street when Michael got to the track, but it had set by the time he arrived, the only light provided by bony fingers of purple-red cloud extending above the western horizon.
God, Michael thought, not another fight with Mona.
Sliding down beside Chris, he apologized. “Sorry, I was walking out of the office when the boss caught me. Customer meeting tomorrow. He stuck me with a presentation.”
“Yeah.” Chris continued to look out across the track.
Michael opened his gym bag. “What about three eight-minute miles, then two ninety-second sprints at the end?”
As he donned his worn track shoes, Chris said nothing, staring at a group of runners that ran effortlessly, completing laps at about six minutes per mile, maybe less. Those on the track varied from white-haired seniors in orthopedic shoes to serious athletes to giggly junior high girls walking in flip-flops. Chris eyed the athletes, easily lapping everyone else.
“I hate them,” he said, venom in his voice.
“Them? Who?” Michael looked up in surprise. Chris sounded serious. Light-hearted, wisecracking Chris.
“Those five that always run together. They pass up everybody. I’ll be sprinting, and I’ll look back, and here they come. They breeze by, no matter how hard I run. They never get tired, never even seem to sweat.”
Michael shook his head. “So they’re fifteen years younger than we are and aren’t addicted to donuts and coffee. They probably run seventy or eighty miles a week, not twelve.” He straightened his t-shirt. “Come on, let’s get with it.”
“I don’t think I want to run.”
Michael stood, unable to hide his disgust. “Then why the hell are you here, Chris?”
Chris finally looked at him, face miserable. “I don’t know.”
Michael sat down again with a sigh. “Trouble with Mona?” It wouldn’t be the first, or even the hundredth, time.
Chris shook his head. “Nothing like that. I just had … an odd experience.” He went silent as the athletes glided by their bench. As usual, the five ran close together, staring straight ahead, silent and focused. Michael knew they were regulars, but he rarely paid them any attention. As a duffer in the jogging department, Michael found watching them mainly depressing.
“I need to get some exercise. Just wait here, will you? Did you bring your car?”
“Walked. Give me a ride home?”
“When I’m done.”
His heart wasn’t in it. On the eighth tepid lap, Michael gave up, sweaty and winded, eying his stopwatch in disgust. After a dejected cool-down lap, he joined Chris on the bench.
He exchanged sneakers and running shoes again. “Let’s go.”
The track was emptying, western sky a charcoal gray. The elite runners still circled the track, displaying no sign of weariness, taking long, rhythmic strides.
As they passed once more, two of them rotated their heads toward Michael, faces expressionless. Just a moment—and they were on their way. Odd, thought Michael, picking up his gym bag. He headed for the parking lot, Chris silently trailing him to his SUV.
Chris remained quiet as they pulled out of the parking lot, the darkened school building casting brooding shadows across their path. Turning left toward Chris’s house, Michael elbowed him. “Let’s have it. I’m tired of listening to the silence.”
Chris stirred. “I shouldn’t have come. When I saw them making their laps, I should have left. But I wanted to check. I started to say something to them, but I didn’t have the guts. And did you see them stare at me on that last lap?”
“You mean the serious runners? I thought the two guys looked over at me.”
“No. They looked at me.”
Michael turned left onto Chris’s street. “Why would they look at you? Damn sure not for inspiration.”
Arms wrapped around his shoulders, Chris looked straight ahead. “Somehow, they kno
w.”
“Know what?” Michael slowed and pulled up in front of Chris’s house. His yard and porch were dark except for the glow of a distant street lamp. Michael faced him.
“I told you.” Chris still stared straight ahead. “I saw something. And I think they know.”
Michael sighed again. The teleconference was at ten, and he’d better have the amended section ready for review by eight sharp. He killed the engine anyway. “Tell me about it.”
It took Chris a few seconds to get started. “Last week, when you were on that business trip, I decided to do a few miles, get a shower, get to bed early. Mona’s in New Jersey, visiting her mom. I did four miles, ran some sprints, felt really good. It was dark when I started home, and everyone else was gone but those five. They left on foot just as I did my last sprint. I hadn’t brought my car, so I trailed after them, about half a block behind.
“When they came to that corner at Tenth Street, where I turn left, they split up. Two headed on up Burns, two went right on Tenth, the other left. As the two turned onto Tenth, one glanced back at me. His eyes glowed like some sort of wild animal.
“I followed the guy that turned left toward my house, still about a half block behind. I had no idea he lived so close to me. He was crossing the street when there came the Wiggins kid out of the alley behind our houses, in his beat-up Camaro, going hell for leather like he always does.
“That street light at the corner of Tenth and Ashwood has been out for a month, and I don’t think the kid even saw the guy. Well, the guy looked back, and of course, his reflexes were as good as you’d think. He jumped left, but the kid swerved the same way. Hit him square on, must’ve knocked him fifty feet. The kid never slowed. I was running by the time the body quit bouncing, and the car had already disappeared.
“I got to the guy in seconds. Figured he was dead—I almost puked. His legs were all bent up, his head sidewise, his arms a mess. I thought a bone was poking out of his leg.”
Michael took a breath. “Awful. I understand why seeing those guys tonight made you so upset.”
Chris paused, swallowed. Swallowed again. “That’s not why I was upset. I was upset because I wondered, how could that guy be jogging tonight when I saw the car smash him up last week.”