He opened his eyes. “One came here,” he said.
"We know."
"I have no answer.” His lips trembled. He clutched at the coats. She put an arm around him and eased him up. He rested against her. Gerard lifted his head and moved closer to Sarah, watching Raf with narrowed eyes. “They have left me here,” Raf went on. “For a moment, I thought I would be taken, but I was not. I was ready to leave. I touched its mind, and then my fear returned, and I didn't want to go. That was when it left me."
"Can you walk?” she asked him.
"I think so."
"We'll take you to our room."
"It's too far. There's a room near here, out that door."
They helped him to his feet, then guided him through the door and down the hall, Sarah on one side, Gerard on the other. Raf pointed with his head at a door. They led him into the room and helped him to a couch along one wall. He stretched out and closed his eyes; one arm hung limply over the side, fingers brushing the floor. The old man carried in the coats and covered him again.
They waited. At times, Raf turned, throwing off a coat. Once he moaned, and the misery in his voice frightened Sarah.
Gerard, who was sitting on the floor next to her, was quiet. She searched his face; his cheeks sagged, and the lines around his lips were more sharply etched. He had not spoken since they had come into this room. His mouth twitched, and she touched his hand gently. His body tensed, as if she had startled him.
Raf moved on the couch. He pushed the coats away, then sat up slowly. He glanced at Mr. Epstein, who was seated at one end of the long couch, then looked down at Sarah and Gerard.
He gazed steadily at them with his large dark eyes, and shook his head. “I'm all right now,” he said. His voice was very low. “You needn't worry."
Sarah nodded, unable to speak.
"I'll take you home, if that's what you want.” His voice was flat, and she could not read the expression in his eyes. For a moment, she was sure he was testing them, toying with them once more. “Would you like that? I'll give you enough to get settled, and you can resume your dreary little lives, though you may find them tiresome after a century or so."
"We can't just retreat,” she responded.
"You'll die there."
"Maybe."
"Don't think I'll come to your rescue.” He leaned back. “I'll be alone,” he said softly.
"No, you won't,” the old man said. “I'll stay. I may not be the best company, but I'm far from the worst. You won't be alone."
Raf suddenly smiled; he was staring at the door, as if seeing someone there. Sarah turned her head, but saw nothing.
The wind caught her as she stepped through the door. Sarah stood near the house as a gust swept toward the trees, making them sway. Gerard followed her outside.
"We can still change our minds,” he said.
"Do you want to?"
"No."
"I don't, either."
Mr. Epstein came out with Raf. The ship, surrounded by mounds of dirt, was in a depression behind the house. Raf gestured at them impatiently.
"You can leave,” he said. “I don't like long farewells."
"We might see you again,” Sarah replied. “You might want to come back."
"No, I don't think I shall.” Raf stuffed his hands into the pockets of his parka. “Go."
Sarah began to cross the field with Gerard, then looked back. Raf was leaning over Mr. Epstein, speaking; then he turned and walked around the side of the house.
The old man came after them. He was to drive them home, settle his affairs, then return. He carried a box with a console inside. Gerard took it from him.
"Are you sure you know how to use it?” Mr. Epstein asked.
Gerard nodded. Sarah glanced toward the house. Raf was shoveling dirt, covering the dull metal dome of his ship, burying it.
They reached the car. Mr. Epstein unlocked it. Gerard put the console in the trunk, then climbed into the back. Sarah sat next to the old man as he tried to start the car. The motor coughed, then whined. They pulled away and turned onto the road.
"I can straighten things out in a few days,” Mr. Epstein said. “I can't just leave a mess and a mystery behind. I'll get my house sold and the money sent to my kids, and my other property can go to those who live in it. I'll give you the Oak Street place. I think you can take care of it."
Sarah gazed at the leafless trees along the side of the road. “We'll try,” Gerard said from behind her.
"Do you have enough?” the old man continued. “Raf gave me more coins for you, and he said you could have the things in his apartment. I'll settle things with my lawyer, and tell him I'm off to Georgia, though of course I'll never arrive there. My children will mourn for a bit, and have my name mentioned in prayers at temple, but they'll go on. They may even be relieved that I won't be a burden in my old age."
The car bounced over the dirt road. Sarah leaned against the armrest.
"What will you two do?” the old man asked.
"I was thinking,” Gerard answered. “I might as well do what I wanted to do, open a rare books store. Raf's just about given me the stock, and it's something we can both do together."
They would be retreating, Sarah thought; they would run their business and lead their lives and it would be as if nothing unusual had happened. She wondered if returning had been the hard choice after all.
"Will you be all right?” she asked Mr. Epstein. “Up there, alone with him?"
He paused before answering. “He's an unhappy, sorrowful man. To say I feel sorry for him seems like an understatement. He's lost all hope; he has faith in nothing. It's an illness.” He sighed. “I'm so used to taking care of others that I'm still doing it."
The car came to the intersection and turned onto the road that would lead them through Hanover. Near the bend in the road ahead, Sarah saw a tall maple tree, trunk gnarled with age. Its limbs were bent and twisted, as if the tree no longer reached for the sky, but instead had been pressed toward the ground by the weight of its long life.
Seventeen
Sarah broke the patch of ice on the sidewalk in front of the driveway while Gerard, behind her, shoveled. He cleared away the broken ice, then surveyed the path through the snow. The path was a cement-gray right angle leading back to the porch. The wind whispered, lifting a veil of flakes, scattering white powder over part of the sidewalk, then died.
The sky was blue. The snow was still white and unsullied; the street had not yet been salted and cleared. Dunes of snow glittered in the sunlight. Three starlings flew overhead, cawing; the black birds alighted on the edge of the building's roof near one of the new solar panels.
Gerard stared at the driveway. “Maybe we can get Bruce to clear it,” he said. “Not that we'll be able to do much driving anyway."
They began to walk back to the porch. Across the street, on the door of the red brick apartment building which faced them, paper jack-o'-lanterns decorated the door; scenes of witches on broomsticks covered the windows of the green house next to it. The children who would come to their door trick-or-treating in a few days would have wan faces under their Halloween masks, and would accept coupons, copper coins, and pieces of fruit as well as candy.
They climbed the steps and entered the building. Their own apartment was warm, heated by the console they always hid in the closet when expecting callers. Above the mantel hung a picture frame holding the newspaper advertisement announcing the opening of their new bookstore; Sarah had designed the ad. They had rented their space at a Main Street intersection where three bus routes converged and where various black marketeers occasionally plied their wares: a good location. They had paid off the police, the small, sly man requiring five dollars a month for “protection,” and had bribed a Guard to pay extra attention to the store on her nightly rounds. Gerard had invented a relative who had made money in gold shares and died, leaving him money. The store would open for business in November.
Sarah took off her boots at the
door, and sat down on the sofa, putting her feet up on the coffee table. Gerard perused a copy of TV-Cable Guide, then tossed it at the table; it teetered on the corner and plopped to the floor. “You excited?” he asked.
"About what?"
"The opening. I am. Rob promised he'd stop by on his way to work."
"You talked to him?"
"He called me. I think he was glad things worked out for me. I got the feeling he was feeling guilty about not covering for me with Groves. He's managing the book department now. He's seeing the girl who got your job."
"He doesn't miss a trick, does he."
"Nope. He says she's nice."
Sarah stretched out her arms. Everything was settled. Eventually, they would migrate, beginning life as other people in another place. They would wear a series of masks, while others aged around them. They would lose everyone they knew, and might cling to each other all the more. They might become as alienated as Raf, in spite of remaining. She remembered Raf's smile. They had been deceiving themselves, and he had known it.
"Gerry."
He looked at her. His eyebrows arched. She stared at his familiar face. “What?"
"Nothing."
He smiled. For a moment, she was content, thinking of Mr. Epstein on Phobos.
They could operate the console, though they did not understand how it worked. It contained visual records made by Raf; they had not viewed any of them. Sarah had avoided putting on the earphones that would show them to her, making her see them as he had; she was afraid she might grow to understand Raf's despair only too well. Eventually, she would have to look, her curiosity would prod her—but not now.
Gerard turned the knobs, searching to see if Raf or Mr. Epstein had left them another message. He adjusted the console and leaned back in his chair while Sarah handed him a cup of tea. She sat down on the other side of the kitchen table, and waited. They had not received a message for almost two weeks.
"Sarah, Gerry.” It was the old man's voice. Sarah leaned forward. “I have something to tell you, but I must start at the beginning.
"I told you how Raf was when we returned here. He had become gentler, almost placid. I was surprised at this, and vain enough to take credit for it, thinking he was happy to have a new friend. He took me around Phobos, showing me where everything is, and then he became quite insistent about two things."
"The first was showing me how to learn about the various machines and devices here, and how to program them. It's easier than it sounds. I put a band around my head, and when I remove it, some knowledge is there, though it'll take me a long time to perfect my skills. I need practice. The computers—or whatever you call them—almost seem to have minds of their own. It's my will and my desires that must be conveyed to them before they can act.
"I expected Raf to show me these things, of course, but his second demand was odd. He insisted that I spend time learning how to pilot the ships. This isn't as hard as it sounds, either, but it's tricky. The ships can run themselves, but the pilot has to concentrate, and you can't rely on your senses at all, only on what the ship shows you. It's disorienting, and very tiring. I couldn't understand why Raf placed such a high priority on that, but he mentioned something about my needing to get around in case something happened, and told me about how I could explore the solar system, and I accepted that.
"I made my first solo flight yesterday, at least I think it was yesterday. I lose track of time here, because I can follow my own schedule. I went down to Mars. Raf followed, just in case.
"I was on Mars. I stood on the desert in my space suit and saw the most desolate landscape I've ever seen, and I was filled with a sense of my own insignificance, but at the same time, I felt joy. How can I explain it? I thought of the people who should have been there, explorers from Earth, and it was as if they were with me for that moment. I knew they would come then, that they would come in spite of everything. People don't accomplish feats like that for the obvious reasons—they're an expression of faith, an honoring of our capabilities, a prayer. That was what I felt.
"I returned to Phobos, exhausted. Raf was delighted. We opened a bottle of wine—the machines here can give you almost anything; Raf programmed them well—and we toasted everything—you two, old friends of mine, I can't even remember it all. I was sure I'd have a hangover, since I've never been much of a drinker, but I awoke with a clear head. One of our fringe benefits, I guess.
"I found Raf in the Pathway chamber. He was staring at the disks, and seemed to be daydreaming. He'd often gone there, so I thought nothing of it. I came up to him and stood with him. He fiddled with that bracelet of his, then turned to me and put his hands on my shoulders. He smiled. He didn't say anything.
"Then he turned from me and ran. I saw him leap onto one of the disks. His arms were out, his face turned up. Then he vanished. I felt a coldness afterward, a presence in the room, and then it was gone. I knew we wouldn't see him again.
"I'm alone. There's a lot to learn, and it'll be a long time before I can come to Earth. I can't chance it until I have more experience."
The console was silent. Then the distant voice spoke again.
"It's up to us. We are the observers now."
The wind was howling outside. Sarah drew the curtains shut. For a moment, she thought she felt the cold air on her face. The wind shrieked.
She climbed into bed and pulled up the comforter. Gerard was with her, on his side of the bed, unmoving, but she felt alone. She wondered how he would change. She thought of Mr. Epstein, alone on Phobos.
She did not move. Her arms lay stiffly at her sides. The room was very dark. She was in a black tunnel that went up past the night sky and into space. She shivered.
Gerard's warm fingers touched her arm, then took her hand, pressing it against his palm.
About the Author
Pamela Sargent has been termed “one of the leaders in a new generation of SF novelists” by writer Gregory Benford. Her first novel, Cloned Lives, was called “solidly realistic, humane and well proportioned” by Ursula K. Le Guin. Library Journal said of her second novel: "The Sudden Star effectively portrays a spiritually bankrupt world ... a powerful, frightening book.” About her third novel, Watchstar, Sonya Dorman wrote: “It's good to read a story in which the heroine has a spiritual life as well as an emotional one, and is a person of intellectual courage.” On her fourth novel, Algis Budrys, writing in The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, commented: "The Golden Space is a major intellectual achievement of SF literature. It will not be possible for any honest story of immortality hereafter to ignore it; it is a landmark.” Ms. Sargent has also published a collection of short stories, Starshadows, and has edited the anthologies Bio-Futures, Women of Wonder, More Women of Wonder, and The New Women of Wonder. The Alien Upstairs is her fifth novel. She lives in upstate New York.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1983 by Pamela Sargent
ISBN 978-1-4976-1084-2
This edition published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
345 Hudson Street
New York, NY 10014
www.openroadmedia.com
Open Road Integrated Media is a digital publisher and multimedia content company. Open Road creates connections between authors and their audiences by marketing its ebooks through a new proprietary online platform, which uses premium video content and social media.
Videos, Archival Documents, and New Releases
Sign up for the Open Road Media newsletter and get news deliv
ered straight to your inbox.
Sign up now at
www.openroadmedia.com/newsletters
FIND OUT MORE AT
WWW.OPENROADMEDIA.COM
FOLLOW US:
@openroadmedia and
Facebook.com/OpenRoadMedia
Alien Upstairs Page 15