Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
The young man walking toward him looked like a tall drink of fun. He wondered what the man was really like.
He’d once been a tall drink of fun, he rued. Well, not a tall drink, but a tumbler of fun. More like a shot, really.
He’d been a short shot of fun.
Icebergs breaking off and rising sea levels…they weren’t his problem. Seas rise. That was their problem. Their own fault, for buying land on the coast and building a house there. Their own fault, the fools.
Like building a place where you know there’s an earthquake, or volcano. Only a fool does that.
No, his problem was the dust. It was going to be another hot, dry, and dusty year with not enough water to bring grow the crops. The water levels were down everywhere.
That was his problem.
He takes the car down the road to the dilapidated cinder block car wash, where most of the features no longer work. Take the change, for example – please! – he laughs to himself, because his first quarter rolls right through the coin slot and machine, and out the other end, clinking on the wet and broken cement pad. He finds a penny when he picks up the quarter.
That car washed, he returns with the other vehicle. He takes it to a different stall, where – deja vu! – the same thing happens with the quarter, and he finds another penny.
Two cars, two stalls, two quarters, two pennies. He cups the pennies in his hand and shakes them.
It must be a sign.
She makes tracks, but not much speed, but she still has a good time.
He with his drinking,
she with her thinking,
she with her eyesight,
and he with his mouth,
they made quite a team,
like the Tampa Bay Buccaneers in their first year.
I, Juancho, was concerned.
Science may explain many things, but not everything, not everything. Even the scientists will tell you so.
I am concerned when science and technology tells me the person addressing me is dead. My sanity may be abridged, or they may be a zombie. I lack the wherewithal to address my sanity. If I am insane, then I am insane. I inhabit a bubble of impressions and thoughts, do I not? Someone must help me from the outside.
I don’t know how to even think about how I can be insane. If this man is here, from the Beagle, but —
But, you see, but, I, Juancho, know that we on the Coronado know that those on the Beagle passed away. All were gone, killed for reasons we don’t know.
So I believe, if, I, Juancho, am sane. Perhaps I’m insane, and the Beagle never exploded and killed all onboard. Conversely, perhaps, I, Juancho, am as sane as I thought I was before this man appeared, and he is a zombie.
I, Juancho, am just a bureaucrat. I have shot weapons with sufficient accuracy to be awarded points and a carry permit, but that’s no matter, as I’m not armed.
The man across from me doesn’t appeared armed, either. He is wearing a standard Beagle utility uniform, the sort worn by engineering corps on the ship. The consistency of my possible insanity impressed me. “We have arrived at a frightening crossroads,” I said.
He watched me with narrowed eyes. “What crossroads?”
“My systems tell me that you’re deceased. If you were onboard the Beagle, then you must be dead.”
He pursed his lips, eyes narrowing more, a suspicious and irritated expression. “I was onboard the Beagle. I don’t see how that would make me dead.” He sounded petulant and childish.
Tread carefully, I, Juancho, told myself. “Do you know what happened to the Beagle?”
He became as still as a person can. I’ve seen such stillness in other aspects of my position when sharing news that surprises other people. He did not know what had happened to the Beagle. But, of course, if he was onboard it, it may have exploded and killed him without warning.
“What happened to the Beagle?” he asked.
“I, Juancho, can show you. We have records. I’ll show you.” I watched him carefully, and vowed that I would keep wary eyes on him. Whether he died onboard the Beagle or not, that was four years ago, if the Coronado’s records were correct. Where has he been in the interim?
Although he didn’t appear the least decayed, he could still be a zombie, which made him a threat to me. I, Juancho, could still be insane. It’s a conundrum. I feel haggard, and wish for a drink. I still have alcohol. The systems can compile it from collected materials, and has been doing so. If he’d arrived later in the day, I would have already been enjoying my afternoon alcoholic buzz.
“Let us go look,” I said. “This way.” I indicated for him to walk.
He eyed me. “You first.”
“No, I insist. You go first.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Nor can I.”
“Then I guess we can’t go.”
“Then we will remain at a troubling, frightening crossroads.”
His obstinance irritated me. “First you won’t tell me your name. Now, you refuse to go see the records which will show to you what happened to the Beagle.”
“Why don’t you just tell me?”
“I do not believe you would believe me.”
He shrugged. “Why should I?”
“Why should lie to you?”
“Because you’re alone on the Coronado.”
“Clarify what you mean.”
“I mean what I said. You’re alone on an exploration vessel that should have a crew of thirty. You’re being evasive and obstinate.”
“I am not being obstinate. You’re being obstinate.”
He smiled. “I don’t see it that way.” Standing, he stretched, flexing impressive muscles. “I’ve had enough of this. I think you’re a troubled individual. I wish I could stay and help you, but I need to get back to the Beagle. I’m going to go find someone who can help me, because you, obviously, can’t – or won’t.” He shrugged. “The difference is immaterial, because the outcome is the same.”
He walked off, a smug, muscular, broad-shouldered blond man in a tight Beagles engineering corps utility uniform.
I did not like him. I decided that despite the hour, I would get a drink. I decided that I would also get a weapon, because he, the prig, would be back, and I, Juancho, wanted to be ready.
The prig could still be a zombie.
The strings are there, tying you up, tangling you up with effort, pain, memories, loss, frustration, and weariness. Others hold onto them, pulling you down, dragging you back, trying to steer you with their tugs.
Snip, snip, snip, cut them away. Free yourself and soar.
For an angle
a bargain
a chance
a death
an ending
a friend
a good reason
a hopeful outcome
an idea
a jolt
a king
a love
a meaningful encounter
a new beginning
an opportunity
a purpose
a result
a sign
a time
an understanding
a vacancy
a win
an x-ray
the young
and a zephyr of change
I, Juancho, stared at the man. “Why are you telling me this?”
He measured me with annoyance, which irritated me. That’s how it always happens. We bureaucrats deliver truth, and others take it personally. The truth here is, I didn’t care about his missing Uncle Vaughn. I knew who Vaughn Parks was, yes, he was a distinguished person, but he was on the Beagle. They’re all dead. I’m surprised this man was alive. That’s who concerned me.
“You asked me how I came here, so I was telling you my story.”
“Your story is gibberish. It’s garbage. Why are you spewing garbage at me? What have I, Juancho, done to you? I asked you a simple question, “How did you get here?” And you give me garbage. Stop giving me garbage.”
“It isn’t garbage, I’m telling you how I came to be here.”
“You haven’t even told me your name.”
He looked insulted. “Why should I tell you my name? Your system should have picked it up.” A frown of deep thought and suspicion creased his forehead and mouth. “Isn’t this the Coronado? Aren’t you from the Beagle? I thought you were. I pinged your systems. They tell me that you’re Juancho Ferrado, and that you’re assigned to the Beagle, and you’re on — we’re on — the Coronado, which was a Beagle research vessel commanded by Commander Alves that was sent down to Feynman.”
He was correct about all of those things. “Very good,” I said. “What’s your name?”
Glancing around, he reared back. “Say, where is everyone else? Where is Commander Alves? She’s a personal friend of mine. I’d like to talk to her, or her second.”
I saw his mind look for Cark’s name. I could have given it, but I let him ask his systems, or think of it for himself. Why should I help him, when he was being such an arrogant asshole? “Lieutenant Commander Cark. Where is he?”
“You haven’t told me your name,” I answered.
I saw the fury grow on his face like black mold. I refused to capitulate. I wanted him to tell me his name so I could watch his face and look for the truth. Our systems will indicate when others are lying, but I believe the systems that nature gave me remain more capable. Those technological systems can be cheated and misled, I assure you.
“Why can’t you ping my name?”
“I want you to tell me. Why can’t you tell me?”
“Why should I tell you when I can ping it?”
“Because I’m asking you, human to human, to speak your name to me. It’s the way we prefer to do it in my culture.”
“What’s your culture?”
“That doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have said that. Forget that I did, please.”
“I can’t. You can’t put your words back in your mouth.”
“Just tell me your name, please.”
“No. I want to speak to Commander Alves.”
“Very well. Ping her.”
“I have pinged her.”
“I’m sure she’ll be here at any moment, then.”
He stared at me.
I smiled back. “See, I know what’s going on,” I said.
He scowled. “Where is everyone? Who are you, Juancho Ferrado?”
“See how easy that was? You said my name. It was very easy. Why won’t you say your name? What are you hiding?”
“I’m not hiding anything, and I’m not going to answer any more of your questions.”
“Fine, don’t. Then I won’t answer your questions.”
He sputtered with indignation. “I’m a Level Ten Engineer. You’re just a bureaucrat. I outrank you. I order you to answer my questions, or better yet, summon Commander Alves for me. My systems seem to be malfunctioning, so if you would just summon her….”
“Summon her?” I showed him my amused derision.
“Yes, or point me in her direction.”
I chuckled. “What will you do if I don’t summon her, or point you in her direction?”
He stood. “Never mind.” He looked around. “I”ll find her myself. I know the Coronado. My systems know it, too. I know the operating deck’s location. I’ll go find her, myself.”
“Very well. Go, go find her. Tell her hello from me, Juancho.” I laughed. “Tell her, I, Juancho, say hello.”
He was snubbing me, walking away like he was a king. I was furious. “Of course, it’ll be difficult to do,” I shouted. “Because she’s dead.”
That drew him up enough to slow his step and prompt him to turn back to me. “Commander Alves is dead?” He appeared shocked.
I gave him the best mocking smile that I could summon. “Didn’t your systems tell you that?”
He came back more slowly. “No. No, it didn’t tell me. She’s deceased? How did it happen? When?”
I stared at him. His response surprised me. I pinged Commander Alves for myself. “Commander Alves is not available,” my system said. “She is deceased.”
“Your system isn’t telling you that?” I asked him.
“No.” He looked genuinely disturbed. Either this was real, or he was an actor worthy of awards.
I pinged his system to confirm his name. It gave it to me. Then I asked my system, “What is his status?”
“Deceased,” my system responded.
Vaughn was killing me. He kept saying, “Where’s my starship?”
Sometimes, I answered him, trying to get him to understand, “This is your starship. The Beagle is the only starship here.” I tried every tone that could be used, and exhausted every level of patience in me. He was enervating me. I pinged the medical systems for an update about his problem. Then I noticed the silence.
Vaughn wasn’t there.
“Vaughn?” Walking around, I scanned for him. “Uncle Vaughn? Where are you?” Then, venting anger, I added more softly, “Answer me, you crazy shit.”
Pangs of guilt swept me. He couldn’t help who he’d become. I owed him a lot, like, being on the Beagle. “Vaughn.” I scanned again. “Where the heck are you?”
Null.
I felt sick.
It was impossible. He had to be on the Beagle, but he wasn’t showing up. I walked my memories for a logical explanation, ran diagnostics on everything, and hunted again for Vaughn.
Null.
It was impossible.
After repeating my actions about seven times, I sucked air and called security.
##
A veep showed up after almost five seconds. I didn’t know him. Hito, his name ping said. “About time,” I said. “I was ready to call you again.”
“Sorry.” Hito didn’t look or sound it. “What’s the problem?”
“My uncle is missing.”
“Missing from where?”
“The Beagle, where else?”
“Your uncle is missing from the Beagle.”
“That’s what I said,” I replied, as my system said, “You’re being scanned.” Yes, of course the cop was scanning me. Looking to see if something’s adulterating my senses.
The cop veep sighed. “Who is your Uncle/”
“Vaughn Parks.” That should get their attention. The cop might not know me, but I think everyone on the ship knew Vaughn Parks.
“Vaughn Parks?”
The hitch in Hito’s voice pleased me. “Yes. Vaughn Parks.”
“He’s your uncle?”
“Yes.”
“Ah.” The veep shifted his stance. “Missing can mean a lot of things, different things to different people. What do you mean when you say, your uncle is missing?”
“I mean that I can’t find him.”
Bored skepticism crept into Hito’s expression. “Have you scanned the ship?”
“Of course, I scanned the ship. That’s the first thing I did. I scanned it several times.”
“Your system’s probably having issues.” Hito almost chortled. I swear, if he had, I was ready to attack him, if he did. “Let me check,” he said.
I waited. I hoped he was right, that my system was fucking up, but I was doubtful. I’d done diagnostics. But I was hopeful. Diagnostics could be flawed, too. I believed, like Hito, that Uncle Vaughn had to be on the ship. Nothing else made sense.
It was taking longer than I expected. “What’s happening?” I asked. “Did you find him?” I admit, I was a little mocking.
The veep cleared his throat. “Not yet. Excuse me.” He went into private mode.
I fumed. While I fumed, I checked for Vaughn on my systems again.
Then alarms went off. As I jumped from the interruption, the ship’s security systems informed me that a lockdown was in progress. Movement was restricted. Sections were being closed. Everyone was to shelter in place.
It had to have something to do with my missing uncle.
“Excuse me, I have to attend this alarm,” the veep said.
I was dubious. “They’re recalling you?” He was answering, “I’m afraid so,” as I was protesting, “But why? You’re a virtual presence. Why the fuck do they need to recall you?”
I guess he didn’t like my tone or question. If his eyes were energy guns, I’d been vaporized. “Yes, sir. We’ve gone to LERTCON Alpha, so we need to consolidate and conserve energy. Someone will get back to you when they can.”
He was gone but I still shouted, “But what about my uncle? What kind of security alert is it? Maybe it has something to do with my missing uncle.”
But he was gone, and there wasn’t any answer.
Assholes.
Michael Seidel, writer 