Both Your Houses
February 28th, 2010“It’s cold over here.”
“Fuel lines.”
“Oh.” It looked up and noted the long translucent tubes transferring a honey-golden syrup. They terminated in the smooth, round belly of the vessel, which seemed to swell visibly as the fuel entered. “What I don’t understand…”
“There’s so much I don’t understand,” the other replied. “How and why are just the tip of it.”
“There are rules. And that’s an end to it.”
*
“Ten percent.” Reading the gauge.
“I know the rhyme. ‘Twenty percent a third are sent / Thirty percent and halfway spent / Fifty percent, too late, repent.’ I’ve known it since I learned to speak.”
“I know it, too…”
“Then you know we have plenty of time.” A dark laugh. “Probably.”
*
“Been to the line?”
“Yes. Not long now. T is huge, a colossus.”
“I see T everywhere.”
“Everywhere but here. Here, at least, we’re safe. For now.”
“Twelve percent.”
“Plenty of time.”
“It doesn’t make sense to wait.”
“Then go ahead, climb aboard the Zoster and strap yourself down. Feel the belt as it oozes into your sides. One with the ship. There you are, and there you’ll stay. Staring at the featureless gray walls all around you. Waiting. A few minutes – or a few days. I’d go mad in the first hour.”
“Come with me. At least we could talk.”
“That’s already decided.”
“You could always change your mind.”
Another dark laugh.
*
“Fifteen percent.”
“Filling up faster now.” Both looked toward the pulsating fuel lines.
“It doesn’t make sense…”
“There are rules. And that’s an end –”
“That’s not what I mean. You don’t have to stay.”
“True. I don’t have to stay.”
“Then why?”
“I want to find out what happens next. I want to know, once you’ve gone, once the Zoster has blasted out to the Unknown Beyond, what becomes of those left behind.”
“You know what happens – T comes, and death comes with it.”
“Really? You know this? How?”
“Common knowledge. And common sense.”
“It’s not suicide. It’s curiosity.”
“Aren’t you curious about the Unknown Beyond?”
“No. That we know about. A void, then a landing, then it all begins all over again.”
“But you’ve never been there yourself.”
“Our ancestors have, from time out of mind. I want something new, something they never saw.”
“Suicide.”
“Curiosity.”
*
“Nineteen percent.”
“Hadn’t you better get on board?”
“If I miss this one, I’ll catch the next.”
“And hope this one isn’t the last.”
“But that’s what you’re hoping, isn’t it?”
“Not hoping. Waiting.”
“You’ll see us all off, and face your fate.”
“Indeed.”
“You seem almost relaxed in the face of death.”
“I won’t die.”
“You’re a fool.”
“Am I? Very well then, board the Zoster. You wouldn’t want to be fooled into missing your ride.”
“And too sure of yourself.”
“A self-assured fool. Or, just perhaps, the possessor of some hidden knowledge.”
*
“Shouldn’t you be going?”
“Not until you tell me what you know.”
“Twenty-one percent.”
“Tell me.”
“It wouldn’t make any difference.”
“It might.”
“How?”
“I wouldn’t grieve.”
“I hadn’t thought…” It looked at the other for a long moment. “Don’t grieve. I will be safe. And alive.”
“How? T is coming.”
“I found a place beyond T’s reach.”
“You’ll spend your lifetime hiding in a cubbyhole?”
“Another space. Very different.”
“You’ll be safe there?”
“Perfectly.”
“And free?”
“Yes. Well. Free enough.”
“And you haven’t shared this?”
“What difference would it make? Everyone is leaving.”
*
“It will be lonely.”
“You’ll have company.”
“I mean for you, here, once we’re gone.”
“I doubt I’ll be the only one. And I’ll explore.”
“Is it big, this other space?”
“Vast.”
“You almost make me want to stay.”
“Someone needs to go.”
*
“Twenty-three percent.”
“You can’t drag this out forever.”
“I know. I know.”
“Here we are.” They stopped before the entrance to the Zoster.
“So…”
“Yes?”
“That’s it?”
“It is.”
“I want something more.”
“What?”
“This.” It bulged from the center.
“Your genome?”
“Part of it.”
“For me?”
“To share.”
“Oh. Well. Alright.” It bulged now, as well. The bulges met, melted, and coalesced back into two smooth surfaces.
“Now part of you will go with me.”
“And part of you will stay.”
*
“I should hurry now.”
“Indeed. You might have waited too long.”
“Be careful.”
“Have fun. A fresh start in a new world. I almost envy you.”
“And I you.”
*
At just under thirty-two percent the space around the Zoster seemed to twist, as if the ship would grow to span all space. Then nothing remained.
*
The opening was still there. Obvious, unprotected, easy. It had to strip down. Removing one layer. Keeping another. It leaned against the opening, feeling itself taken up a hundred thousand points, ferried across the barrier.
Let me in. I want to live forever.