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mmerriamFor someone who was not going to be online much today, I sure am posting a lot.
Rija's Tale
In celebration of The Second Annual International Pixel-Stained Technopeasant Day, and in honor of my recent publication in Fictitious Force 5, I give you my story that appeared in Fictitious Force 3, and will appear in my forthcoming collection, Shimmers & Shadows. Is it Science Fiction? Is it Urban Fantasy? Is it Romance? You tell me.
Out Among the Singing Void
Click-whirr. Click-whirr.
The sound of her arm as she lifts the teacup. Most would never notice. The aluminum, titanium, and ceramic piece of art she wears in place of her right arm is a marvel of engineering, the pinnacle of modern cybernetics. Most would never hear the gentle sound of the various servos working together in a balanced dance: a dance of lightning reflexes, allowing her to pilot the latest ships to travel deep space.
No, most would never hear. But I do.
"Come with me," Maria says. The same words she spoke twenty-one years ago. Now she has returned, trying her luck one last time.
"No."
Click-click whirr. A long-suffering sigh. The soft clink of the teacup on the saucer.
I pick up my own tea and sip. It is cold and bitter. "I'm happy for the company, though I would think you'd want to spend your leave with family."
I hear the fabric in her uniform stretch and another soft exhale of breath. "I've no one left on Earth, except you."
I set the cup down and raise an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"Emily is coming with me to New Topeka. She's the mission biologist. I suspect she and Nathan will start having children of their own once the colony is established. I moved Mom into the facilities on Mars Station Eight last year. Aunt Hope died during the war."
"I'm surprised they let your mother leave Earth. A woman of her age..."
"It was a favor. I told the fleet operations officer I wouldn't go unless my family was provided for. They need their senior pilot—so Mom received a waiver."
"It's good she's close to your work."
I hear the creak of her uniform and realize she shrugged. "I hardly see her. I spend so much time doing workups on the ship and—and she usually doesn’t recognize me anyway." With a whirr and a tinkle she picks up the teacup. "Your tea stinks by the way. I don’t know how you managed to ruin a perfectly good Earl Grey."
"Practice. It's all in how you add the sweetener."
"You're going to come with me, William."
I shake my head. "I'm flattered you came all this way to visit me, but I'm not leaving Earth."
"I have a week. I'll convince you."
#
The next morning Maria and I begin to fall into familiar patterns despite twenty-one years of separation.
I climb from bed to find her already awake. Always an early riser, the enhancements make her need for sleep minimal. I smile to myself and amble toward the kitchen of my little apartment. I hear the pleasant sound of Maria slurping coffee at my kitchen table. The radio plays the morning news, giving the public the latest announcements from the governing body of the NorthStar Alliance concerning the continuing border conflict with the Missouri Confederation.
"Good morning," I say, alerting her to my presence.
A wooden chair shifts. "Still as silent as ever," she says.
"It is a gift." I pour a cup of coffee for myself, taking in the dark aroma. I find she has finished half the pot. I smell the syrupy remains of her breakfast as I settle across from her. "Did you sleep well?"
"Where did you find that old hide-a-bed? It's all springs and wires."
"It's the best I can manage on a pensioner's wage."
"But you still keep coffee beans in the house?"
"My little indulgence."
"Perhaps we should go to the city market and stock up. If I'm going to stay with you an entire week, I don't want to eat you out of house and home."
I nod my head. "You always could pack away the food."
"High metabolism," she says, laughing. It is a low, throaty sound, Maria's laughter.
We spend an agreeable day buying groceries and browsing the market district. Maria never once brings up my leaving Earth. I know she is allowing me time to relax. Soon she will begin her assault on my resolve.
That night we sit on my front balcony and sip tea Maria prepared. It tastes better than anything I make, though I cannot tell the difference in her preparation. We reminisce about high school and college. She studies the handful of people I call neighbors as they move along the slowly disintegrating sidewalk, going about whatever business they conduct at night.
"William, about the children in your neighborhood?"
"Yes."
"None of them seem any older than twelve."
"None of them are, not anymore."
She sits silently for several heartbeats. I listen to the low hum of music from up the street, the whirr-click of Maria's arm, other small night noises. I smell someone cooking on a grill, and underneath it all, the scents I associate with Maria: a combination of soap, the metal of her cybernetics, and just a hint of something earthy. Life almost seems normal.
"What do you mean, 'not anymore'"?
"They've all gone away."
"Gone away where, exactly?" She speaks in the strained voice of Maria the Mother, not the calm voice of Maria the Soldier.
"Come with me," I say, rising and grasping my cane. The graphite rod is cool in my hand. Even after all these years I still hate the artificial feel of it, but I need it to navigate.
I feel Maria stand, and I sense her hesitate. "Maybe I should—"
"You will not need your weapons, but if it makes you feel safer, then by all means."
She steps inside the apartment. A moment later she steps out again, and I hear the subtle creak of the belt that holds her machine pistol and service knife.
I lead her down the sidewalk for three blocks, the tapping of my cane loud on the concrete. I turn down a side street that, by the lack of buzzing, I can tell has lost its lights. I feel Maria tense up and move closer to me. I stop us on an old bridge over Minnehaha Creek.
"William—," she begins to protest.
"Stay here," I tell her. "No matter what you see, or think you see, stay on the bridge."
"Okay. But if something attacks you, I'm not standing on the sidelines."
I hear the snap of the restraining strap being removed from her machine pistol as I walk into the vacant park. I find the one remaining bench and seat myself, facing the creek and Maria. For several minutes the only sounds to reach my ears are the water rustling over rock, the occasional creak of Maria's weapons belt, and the whirr and clack of her arm. I wonder if they will come tonight of their own volition. Another minute passes before the sound of their approach reaches my ears.
At first I hear a soft rustle, not unlike the machinery in Maria's arm, then it grows loud, more distinct. Individual whines and yips become clear. At last they break out of the darkness and swirl around me. I hear their playful growls and yelps as they tumble about. Several run up and sniff at me, and a few playfully lick my hands and arms. A couple of the more spirited ones raise their heads and howl. I smile out at them as I stand and raise my hand. They grow silent; I can sense them in front of me, waiting.
"Thank you for coming. I just needed to show my friend."
A series of barks and yips, and they turn and race off into the night.
I return to the bridge and gather Maria. I know what her enhanced optics told her. We were the only living creatures, aside from a stray cat and a foraging raccoon, in the entire park. To her optics there was no pack of young wolves, but her organic eye told her a different tale. I know Maria is searching her mind for a logical explanation.
She is silent all the way home.
#
The next morning Maria picks at her sausage and eggs for several minutes before clearing her throat and speaking in a calm, even voice. "So you're telling me the children have turned into wolves? I'm sorry, William, but children do not just turn into wolves. Especially wolves without physical form."
"Then explain what you saw last night," I challenge her.
"It was an illusion. A play of the shadows." I feel her body tense up from across the table. "What happened last night is impossible. You tricked me somehow."
I sit quietly for several moments, drinking my coffee and letting my eggs cool. I know Maria will never accept my explanation, but I give it to her anyway. "It's true, I am responsible for what you saw last night."
"How?"
"Magic."
Maria snorts into her coffee. "Superstition."
"Yet what you observed last night—"
"I know my optics told me one thing while my real eye saw something else. That doesn't mean it was magic." I feel her glaring at me. "I think you're having me on."
I push my empty coffee cup across the table toward her and listen to her refill it. "How do you explain the return of the unicorns? Or the sasquatch?"
The sound of my cup settling on the table and the whirr of her servos as she pushes it back to me.
"Mutations are to be expected in the hot zones. I suspect most of those stories are just hallucinations anyway, if not outright lies."
It is my turn to snort. "These are no mutations."
"So you're trying to tell me real unicorns roam the Dakota prairies? Come on, William, they're just unfortunate horses or goats who suffered too much radiation. They're dying, just like Earth. That's why you need to come with me."
"No, Maria, the world is being reborn. The more humans leave the world, the wilder it becomes. Eventually the world will go feral and revert to a more primitive version of itself."
"William, our scientists project in two more centuries the whole planet will be dead, not just the area around the equator or the places where the bombing was the worst. The Interstellar Parliament has already drafted a plan to terraform Earth."
"They will be sorely disappointed, I think."
"And how do you propose to stop the planet's death? With magic?"
"I don't need to stop the death of the planet. It's healing itself, becoming something new. The age of man is over on this world, true. Just because Homo sapiens' reign has reached its twilight does not mean the world itself must end."
"So what, the age of fairy tales and children's stories is upon us?"
"In a manner of speaking. Things forgotten are being remembered. Mankind will just be one race among many."
I hear the scrape of the wooden chair over the floor. I can smell the sudden sweat and hear the hiss of her breathing. She is angry with me. When she speaks there is coolness in her voice.
"I'm going to the lift station to check on my ship. When I return I'd like to discuss you leaving Earth like two educated adults, without all the fairy tale bullshit. I don't want to talk about unicorns and elves, just the facts of this sad little planet. Do you think you can do that, William?"
"Of course," I say. "Could I ask a favor of you, since you're going to the lift station?"
Her voice softens. "Sure."
I walk past her into my bedroom. When I return with the object I hear her sharp intake of breath.
"Where did you get this?" she asks.
I hold the long, thin piece of maple out to her. "Don't worry; it came from a natural blow down. I have the certificate of ownership, and the piece is registered with the Interior Minister's office. No one will arrest us for destroying natural resources."
She takes the piece from me. I hear the telltale sounds of her examining the wood. "What do you want me to do with it?" she asks.
"I'd like it turned into a mobility cane. I don't own the tools to do it myself, and I lack the funds to pay a craftsman guild wages. I hoped you could use some tools at the lift station's maintenance shop to shave it down for me."
"William, I'm no woodcrafter. I could loan you the credits to pay for the work."
"Please, Maria, do this for me. Do this for me, and I will listen to your arguments without interruption or question."
She stands quietly for a moment, and I know she is thinking over my request. "Okay. But I'm holding you to that, you understand me?"
"Clearly."
I pass her the certificate and a note describing the specifications I need the wood modified to; the papers crinkle when she slips them into her pocket. I sense her move toward me. For a moment I wonder what she plans, then I feel a familiar pair of lips on my cheek.
She leaves without another word.
#
Maria returns to my apartment just after midnight. I am in bed, unable to sleep. I spent the day with my memories of Maria: fading memories of two much younger people in a much simpler time. I hear her moving in the living room, note the soft sound of wood on wood over the hum of her cybernetic arm. Her footsteps approach my door, then she enters the bedroom and settles down next to me. I turn toward her. The tangy, salty smell of tears clings to her.
"What's wrong?" I ask.
Maria sniffs, and her voice is low and thick when she speaks. "Mom."
I reach out and gather her to me. "I'm sorry," I tell her, meaning it. "Lorna was a wonderful lady."
"I don't think she ever forgave me."
"For choosing the stars?"
"For choosing to leave my family. For leaving my infant daughter in her care. For making her raise Emily until she was seven, then taking her only grandchild away with me to those same stars. We hardly spoke after I left."
"And have you forgiven yourself?"
"No."
"You should. You made the best decision you could."
I smell the tears come fresh and feel their dampness on my chest. "I took your daughter away from you."
"You spared her a global war."
"I abandoned you to face the war alone. I should have found a way for you to leave with me and Emily. I should never have left you behind."
I squeeze her in a hug and kiss her forehead, this woman, the only one I have ever truly loved. "I made my own choices."
And I had. I chose not to accept optic implants. I knew at the time this would disqualify me from both joining the fleet and emigrating off world, no matter how great my talent as a programmer. But my blindness was too much a part of my identity, my pride too stubborn. Maria had argued and yelled and cried and pleaded with me to change my mind. In the end she had followed her dream into space while I remained bound to Earth.
"I have to go back to Mars in the morning. You're coming with me this time."
"No. My place is here."
She shifts, and I feel her warm breath on my face. "Your place is with your family."
She strokes my cheek with her metal hand. I lean into her cool, metallic caress. I smile as she continues to touch my face, eventually running her hand down my neck and across my shoulder.
I place my own hand on her face, seeing her clearly for the first time in years. I feel the angles and contours. I run my hands over her eyelids. They feel the same, though I know only one eye is organic. I touch her skin and determine the years have been good to her, despite the encroaching wrinkles. Running my fingers lightly over her lips and cheeks, I discover she laughs and smiles often.
She reaches up and stills my hand. "I don’t want you to see me like this," she says.
"You will always be sixteen in my mind."
She laughs softly and sniffs. "I'm glad you didn't lose your vision when we were ten."
I run my hand down her arm, then over the swell of her hip. The uniform fabric feels smooth and soft, and after a moment my hand remembers her. "I doubt I could ever mistake you for a ten-year old."
"William?"
"Yes?"
"I—I need to be with you tonight." Her voice is fierce as she pushes me onto my back.
In the darkness we remember magic and physics.
#
Her cybernetic arm, cool and hard, drapes over my body. I find it comforting, in its way. I know it is the source of Maria's magic. Whether she realizes it or not, her arm is her talisman. With it she performs the magic of interstellar flight. It is a rare gift, as rare as my own.
I slip from her sleeping embrace and go in search of the item that will become my talisman. I heard her lay it on the coffee table earlier, so I make my way toward it. A moment of fumbling, and I grasp it.
She has cut it to the proper length, and tapered it correctly. I tap around the living room, testing its sensitivity. It is adequate for the mundane task of searching for unseen obstacles. More important, it was fashioned by Maria with loving care. I can feel my magic settle about the cane as I handle it.
There is a creaking of springs and the soft whine of servos, and then Maria is with me. "William? What are you doing?"
"Trying out the new cane."
Maria steps farther into the room. A gentle swish tells me she is wrapped in a blanket against the early morning cold. "It's two-fifteen. Come back to bed. You can try the cane out in the morning while I pack our things."
"Maria—"
"Come on, William. I'm cold and you're naked."
"Take my hand." I reach out with my right hand. "Please."
She slips her left hand, her natural hand, into mine. I smile to myself when I feel the metal of her wedding band. I am not foolish enough to believe she has remained celibate in the years we were separated, but she still wears the ring I gave her over two decades ago. It warms me.
"Do you trust me?" I say.
"Of course."
"Then close your eyes. When you feel me step forward, step with me."
"Into the kitchen?"
"Through a doorway, yes. Humor me."
"Fine. My eyes are closed."
I hum a tune under my breath, and the magic comes to my call. I reach out with the maple-wood cane and sweep it, as if I were searching for objects in my path. I feel a slight shift in reality and step forward. Maria steps with me.
"You can open your eyes," I say.
She gasps and releases my hand.
The sun, low in the western sky, warms us. The grass underfoot is thick and soft. The air is pure and fresh in our lungs.
"How?" she says.
"This is the world reborn."
"I'm dreaming. Or hallucinating. I must be, because we're both fully clothed."
"No, Maria. I've brought you to a place in time where the world is whole again. We're clothed because I desire it."
I hear her footsteps on the grass. "Are there people here?"
"I've sent nearly two hundred people through since the war. Sometimes I send creatures through also. The strongest in magic can return to our reality, but not in their mortal forms. That's why the teenagers came to us as wolves in the park."
"You've been sending teenagers across and leaving them without supervision?" The voice of Maria the Mother again.
"No. I send any who have magic of their own. There are plenty of adults, it's just that younger people seem to be stronger in magic."
"And you? You're their pied piper?" her voice quivers. I can tell she is trying to make sense of everything.
"I do the same thing you do."
"I pilot starships, William. I don’t meddle in voodoo."
"We take adventurous people to a new world."
"I don't know what to say, William. This is so—" she pauses and I hear her arm click and whirr as she gestures. "So when did you learn to do this?"
"I've always been able to do magic in one form or another. Programming is just another way of casting spells, if you look at it properly. I discovered this place accidentally. I was humming to myself and letting my mind wander. I suppose I was thinking about living in a better world. Suddenly, I was here." I pause and decide to allow for the possibility of her being right about certain things. "I suppose the magic could be brought on by mutated genes."
"And you've been sending others across for years." She makes it a statement instead of a question.
"Yes. There is a settlement about three kilometers to the north. Would you like me to take you there?"
I feel her step closer to me. She is trembling. "No. Take me home, William."
I offer her my hand. She takes it and breathes deeply.
"Close your eyes," I say. I call the magic and we step back into my living room. It is cold and we are both naked, except for the blanket wrapped around Maria.
"You're not going to come with me, are you?" Maria asks. "You're going to stay here and keep sending others across."
I nod my head. "Maria – Maria, you and the children could come with me. We could step into the other world and leave this one behind."
Even as the words leave my mouth I know her answer. She can no more stop being a starship pilot than I can stop being a creature of magic.
"I'm sorry, William. It is a beautiful place, but I have responsibilities, and—"
I hold up a hand. "I understand."
Maria sighs deeply, takes my hand in her metallic one, and leads me back to bed. There is nothing left to say, so we do not waste time with words. Maria settles on the bed and pulls me down to her. Later we curl up and sleep in each other's arms.
In the morning she is gone.
#
Maria sends a message eight months after her ship leaves for deep space.
In it she says she has decided to become a resident of New Topeka. Maria explains that it will give her a place to stay when she is on leave, and a home when she retires to watch her future grandchildren grow up.
She describes the planet from the survey team's report: The grass is tinged light purple, and the sky a darker blue than Earth's. Near the settlement there is an emerald-colored lake, all surrounded by a snow-covered mountain range.
Maria says she has procured clearance for me to emigrate off Earth, and in one year another ship of colonists will leave for New Topeka.
"Come to me there," her message ends.
I laugh and shrug on my small backpack. I finally understand the truth of what I told Maria that night.
We take adventurous people to new worlds.
This is the magic we share, Maria and I. This is what the magic has always promised: new worlds. Maria understood this when she first left Earth, twenty-one years ago. And now I understand, and accept the gift that is offered.
I pick up the cane she made for me with her own hands: one of flesh, one metal. I focus my mind on the images she described, modifying my fading memories of Earth's physical features to match those of New Topeka. I think about her voice, her scent, her skin under my fingers, the taste of her lips.
I swish the cane and step forward.
Rija's Tale
In celebration of The Second Annual International Pixel-Stained Technopeasant Day, and in honor of my recent publication in Fictitious Force 5, I give you my story that appeared in Fictitious Force 3, and will appear in my forthcoming collection, Shimmers & Shadows. Is it Science Fiction? Is it Urban Fantasy? Is it Romance? You tell me.
Out Among the Singing Void
Click-whirr. Click-whirr.
The sound of her arm as she lifts the teacup. Most would never notice. The aluminum, titanium, and ceramic piece of art she wears in place of her right arm is a marvel of engineering, the pinnacle of modern cybernetics. Most would never hear the gentle sound of the various servos working together in a balanced dance: a dance of lightning reflexes, allowing her to pilot the latest ships to travel deep space.
No, most would never hear. But I do.
"Come with me," Maria says. The same words she spoke twenty-one years ago. Now she has returned, trying her luck one last time.
"No."
Click-click whirr. A long-suffering sigh. The soft clink of the teacup on the saucer.
I pick up my own tea and sip. It is cold and bitter. "I'm happy for the company, though I would think you'd want to spend your leave with family."
I hear the fabric in her uniform stretch and another soft exhale of breath. "I've no one left on Earth, except you."
I set the cup down and raise an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"Emily is coming with me to New Topeka. She's the mission biologist. I suspect she and Nathan will start having children of their own once the colony is established. I moved Mom into the facilities on Mars Station Eight last year. Aunt Hope died during the war."
"I'm surprised they let your mother leave Earth. A woman of her age..."
"It was a favor. I told the fleet operations officer I wouldn't go unless my family was provided for. They need their senior pilot—so Mom received a waiver."
"It's good she's close to your work."
I hear the creak of her uniform and realize she shrugged. "I hardly see her. I spend so much time doing workups on the ship and—and she usually doesn’t recognize me anyway." With a whirr and a tinkle she picks up the teacup. "Your tea stinks by the way. I don’t know how you managed to ruin a perfectly good Earl Grey."
"Practice. It's all in how you add the sweetener."
"You're going to come with me, William."
I shake my head. "I'm flattered you came all this way to visit me, but I'm not leaving Earth."
"I have a week. I'll convince you."
#
The next morning Maria and I begin to fall into familiar patterns despite twenty-one years of separation.
I climb from bed to find her already awake. Always an early riser, the enhancements make her need for sleep minimal. I smile to myself and amble toward the kitchen of my little apartment. I hear the pleasant sound of Maria slurping coffee at my kitchen table. The radio plays the morning news, giving the public the latest announcements from the governing body of the NorthStar Alliance concerning the continuing border conflict with the Missouri Confederation.
"Good morning," I say, alerting her to my presence.
A wooden chair shifts. "Still as silent as ever," she says.
"It is a gift." I pour a cup of coffee for myself, taking in the dark aroma. I find she has finished half the pot. I smell the syrupy remains of her breakfast as I settle across from her. "Did you sleep well?"
"Where did you find that old hide-a-bed? It's all springs and wires."
"It's the best I can manage on a pensioner's wage."
"But you still keep coffee beans in the house?"
"My little indulgence."
"Perhaps we should go to the city market and stock up. If I'm going to stay with you an entire week, I don't want to eat you out of house and home."
I nod my head. "You always could pack away the food."
"High metabolism," she says, laughing. It is a low, throaty sound, Maria's laughter.
We spend an agreeable day buying groceries and browsing the market district. Maria never once brings up my leaving Earth. I know she is allowing me time to relax. Soon she will begin her assault on my resolve.
That night we sit on my front balcony and sip tea Maria prepared. It tastes better than anything I make, though I cannot tell the difference in her preparation. We reminisce about high school and college. She studies the handful of people I call neighbors as they move along the slowly disintegrating sidewalk, going about whatever business they conduct at night.
"William, about the children in your neighborhood?"
"Yes."
"None of them seem any older than twelve."
"None of them are, not anymore."
She sits silently for several heartbeats. I listen to the low hum of music from up the street, the whirr-click of Maria's arm, other small night noises. I smell someone cooking on a grill, and underneath it all, the scents I associate with Maria: a combination of soap, the metal of her cybernetics, and just a hint of something earthy. Life almost seems normal.
"What do you mean, 'not anymore'"?
"They've all gone away."
"Gone away where, exactly?" She speaks in the strained voice of Maria the Mother, not the calm voice of Maria the Soldier.
"Come with me," I say, rising and grasping my cane. The graphite rod is cool in my hand. Even after all these years I still hate the artificial feel of it, but I need it to navigate.
I feel Maria stand, and I sense her hesitate. "Maybe I should—"
"You will not need your weapons, but if it makes you feel safer, then by all means."
She steps inside the apartment. A moment later she steps out again, and I hear the subtle creak of the belt that holds her machine pistol and service knife.
I lead her down the sidewalk for three blocks, the tapping of my cane loud on the concrete. I turn down a side street that, by the lack of buzzing, I can tell has lost its lights. I feel Maria tense up and move closer to me. I stop us on an old bridge over Minnehaha Creek.
"William—," she begins to protest.
"Stay here," I tell her. "No matter what you see, or think you see, stay on the bridge."
"Okay. But if something attacks you, I'm not standing on the sidelines."
I hear the snap of the restraining strap being removed from her machine pistol as I walk into the vacant park. I find the one remaining bench and seat myself, facing the creek and Maria. For several minutes the only sounds to reach my ears are the water rustling over rock, the occasional creak of Maria's weapons belt, and the whirr and clack of her arm. I wonder if they will come tonight of their own volition. Another minute passes before the sound of their approach reaches my ears.
At first I hear a soft rustle, not unlike the machinery in Maria's arm, then it grows loud, more distinct. Individual whines and yips become clear. At last they break out of the darkness and swirl around me. I hear their playful growls and yelps as they tumble about. Several run up and sniff at me, and a few playfully lick my hands and arms. A couple of the more spirited ones raise their heads and howl. I smile out at them as I stand and raise my hand. They grow silent; I can sense them in front of me, waiting.
"Thank you for coming. I just needed to show my friend."
A series of barks and yips, and they turn and race off into the night.
I return to the bridge and gather Maria. I know what her enhanced optics told her. We were the only living creatures, aside from a stray cat and a foraging raccoon, in the entire park. To her optics there was no pack of young wolves, but her organic eye told her a different tale. I know Maria is searching her mind for a logical explanation.
She is silent all the way home.
#
The next morning Maria picks at her sausage and eggs for several minutes before clearing her throat and speaking in a calm, even voice. "So you're telling me the children have turned into wolves? I'm sorry, William, but children do not just turn into wolves. Especially wolves without physical form."
"Then explain what you saw last night," I challenge her.
"It was an illusion. A play of the shadows." I feel her body tense up from across the table. "What happened last night is impossible. You tricked me somehow."
I sit quietly for several moments, drinking my coffee and letting my eggs cool. I know Maria will never accept my explanation, but I give it to her anyway. "It's true, I am responsible for what you saw last night."
"How?"
"Magic."
Maria snorts into her coffee. "Superstition."
"Yet what you observed last night—"
"I know my optics told me one thing while my real eye saw something else. That doesn't mean it was magic." I feel her glaring at me. "I think you're having me on."
I push my empty coffee cup across the table toward her and listen to her refill it. "How do you explain the return of the unicorns? Or the sasquatch?"
The sound of my cup settling on the table and the whirr of her servos as she pushes it back to me.
"Mutations are to be expected in the hot zones. I suspect most of those stories are just hallucinations anyway, if not outright lies."
It is my turn to snort. "These are no mutations."
"So you're trying to tell me real unicorns roam the Dakota prairies? Come on, William, they're just unfortunate horses or goats who suffered too much radiation. They're dying, just like Earth. That's why you need to come with me."
"No, Maria, the world is being reborn. The more humans leave the world, the wilder it becomes. Eventually the world will go feral and revert to a more primitive version of itself."
"William, our scientists project in two more centuries the whole planet will be dead, not just the area around the equator or the places where the bombing was the worst. The Interstellar Parliament has already drafted a plan to terraform Earth."
"They will be sorely disappointed, I think."
"And how do you propose to stop the planet's death? With magic?"
"I don't need to stop the death of the planet. It's healing itself, becoming something new. The age of man is over on this world, true. Just because Homo sapiens' reign has reached its twilight does not mean the world itself must end."
"So what, the age of fairy tales and children's stories is upon us?"
"In a manner of speaking. Things forgotten are being remembered. Mankind will just be one race among many."
I hear the scrape of the wooden chair over the floor. I can smell the sudden sweat and hear the hiss of her breathing. She is angry with me. When she speaks there is coolness in her voice.
"I'm going to the lift station to check on my ship. When I return I'd like to discuss you leaving Earth like two educated adults, without all the fairy tale bullshit. I don't want to talk about unicorns and elves, just the facts of this sad little planet. Do you think you can do that, William?"
"Of course," I say. "Could I ask a favor of you, since you're going to the lift station?"
Her voice softens. "Sure."
I walk past her into my bedroom. When I return with the object I hear her sharp intake of breath.
"Where did you get this?" she asks.
I hold the long, thin piece of maple out to her. "Don't worry; it came from a natural blow down. I have the certificate of ownership, and the piece is registered with the Interior Minister's office. No one will arrest us for destroying natural resources."
She takes the piece from me. I hear the telltale sounds of her examining the wood. "What do you want me to do with it?" she asks.
"I'd like it turned into a mobility cane. I don't own the tools to do it myself, and I lack the funds to pay a craftsman guild wages. I hoped you could use some tools at the lift station's maintenance shop to shave it down for me."
"William, I'm no woodcrafter. I could loan you the credits to pay for the work."
"Please, Maria, do this for me. Do this for me, and I will listen to your arguments without interruption or question."
She stands quietly for a moment, and I know she is thinking over my request. "Okay. But I'm holding you to that, you understand me?"
"Clearly."
I pass her the certificate and a note describing the specifications I need the wood modified to; the papers crinkle when she slips them into her pocket. I sense her move toward me. For a moment I wonder what she plans, then I feel a familiar pair of lips on my cheek.
She leaves without another word.
#
Maria returns to my apartment just after midnight. I am in bed, unable to sleep. I spent the day with my memories of Maria: fading memories of two much younger people in a much simpler time. I hear her moving in the living room, note the soft sound of wood on wood over the hum of her cybernetic arm. Her footsteps approach my door, then she enters the bedroom and settles down next to me. I turn toward her. The tangy, salty smell of tears clings to her.
"What's wrong?" I ask.
Maria sniffs, and her voice is low and thick when she speaks. "Mom."
I reach out and gather her to me. "I'm sorry," I tell her, meaning it. "Lorna was a wonderful lady."
"I don't think she ever forgave me."
"For choosing the stars?"
"For choosing to leave my family. For leaving my infant daughter in her care. For making her raise Emily until she was seven, then taking her only grandchild away with me to those same stars. We hardly spoke after I left."
"And have you forgiven yourself?"
"No."
"You should. You made the best decision you could."
I smell the tears come fresh and feel their dampness on my chest. "I took your daughter away from you."
"You spared her a global war."
"I abandoned you to face the war alone. I should have found a way for you to leave with me and Emily. I should never have left you behind."
I squeeze her in a hug and kiss her forehead, this woman, the only one I have ever truly loved. "I made my own choices."
And I had. I chose not to accept optic implants. I knew at the time this would disqualify me from both joining the fleet and emigrating off world, no matter how great my talent as a programmer. But my blindness was too much a part of my identity, my pride too stubborn. Maria had argued and yelled and cried and pleaded with me to change my mind. In the end she had followed her dream into space while I remained bound to Earth.
"I have to go back to Mars in the morning. You're coming with me this time."
"No. My place is here."
She shifts, and I feel her warm breath on my face. "Your place is with your family."
She strokes my cheek with her metal hand. I lean into her cool, metallic caress. I smile as she continues to touch my face, eventually running her hand down my neck and across my shoulder.
I place my own hand on her face, seeing her clearly for the first time in years. I feel the angles and contours. I run my hands over her eyelids. They feel the same, though I know only one eye is organic. I touch her skin and determine the years have been good to her, despite the encroaching wrinkles. Running my fingers lightly over her lips and cheeks, I discover she laughs and smiles often.
She reaches up and stills my hand. "I don’t want you to see me like this," she says.
"You will always be sixteen in my mind."
She laughs softly and sniffs. "I'm glad you didn't lose your vision when we were ten."
I run my hand down her arm, then over the swell of her hip. The uniform fabric feels smooth and soft, and after a moment my hand remembers her. "I doubt I could ever mistake you for a ten-year old."
"William?"
"Yes?"
"I—I need to be with you tonight." Her voice is fierce as she pushes me onto my back.
In the darkness we remember magic and physics.
#
Her cybernetic arm, cool and hard, drapes over my body. I find it comforting, in its way. I know it is the source of Maria's magic. Whether she realizes it or not, her arm is her talisman. With it she performs the magic of interstellar flight. It is a rare gift, as rare as my own.
I slip from her sleeping embrace and go in search of the item that will become my talisman. I heard her lay it on the coffee table earlier, so I make my way toward it. A moment of fumbling, and I grasp it.
She has cut it to the proper length, and tapered it correctly. I tap around the living room, testing its sensitivity. It is adequate for the mundane task of searching for unseen obstacles. More important, it was fashioned by Maria with loving care. I can feel my magic settle about the cane as I handle it.
There is a creaking of springs and the soft whine of servos, and then Maria is with me. "William? What are you doing?"
"Trying out the new cane."
Maria steps farther into the room. A gentle swish tells me she is wrapped in a blanket against the early morning cold. "It's two-fifteen. Come back to bed. You can try the cane out in the morning while I pack our things."
"Maria—"
"Come on, William. I'm cold and you're naked."
"Take my hand." I reach out with my right hand. "Please."
She slips her left hand, her natural hand, into mine. I smile to myself when I feel the metal of her wedding band. I am not foolish enough to believe she has remained celibate in the years we were separated, but she still wears the ring I gave her over two decades ago. It warms me.
"Do you trust me?" I say.
"Of course."
"Then close your eyes. When you feel me step forward, step with me."
"Into the kitchen?"
"Through a doorway, yes. Humor me."
"Fine. My eyes are closed."
I hum a tune under my breath, and the magic comes to my call. I reach out with the maple-wood cane and sweep it, as if I were searching for objects in my path. I feel a slight shift in reality and step forward. Maria steps with me.
"You can open your eyes," I say.
She gasps and releases my hand.
The sun, low in the western sky, warms us. The grass underfoot is thick and soft. The air is pure and fresh in our lungs.
"How?" she says.
"This is the world reborn."
"I'm dreaming. Or hallucinating. I must be, because we're both fully clothed."
"No, Maria. I've brought you to a place in time where the world is whole again. We're clothed because I desire it."
I hear her footsteps on the grass. "Are there people here?"
"I've sent nearly two hundred people through since the war. Sometimes I send creatures through also. The strongest in magic can return to our reality, but not in their mortal forms. That's why the teenagers came to us as wolves in the park."
"You've been sending teenagers across and leaving them without supervision?" The voice of Maria the Mother again.
"No. I send any who have magic of their own. There are plenty of adults, it's just that younger people seem to be stronger in magic."
"And you? You're their pied piper?" her voice quivers. I can tell she is trying to make sense of everything.
"I do the same thing you do."
"I pilot starships, William. I don’t meddle in voodoo."
"We take adventurous people to a new world."
"I don't know what to say, William. This is so—" she pauses and I hear her arm click and whirr as she gestures. "So when did you learn to do this?"
"I've always been able to do magic in one form or another. Programming is just another way of casting spells, if you look at it properly. I discovered this place accidentally. I was humming to myself and letting my mind wander. I suppose I was thinking about living in a better world. Suddenly, I was here." I pause and decide to allow for the possibility of her being right about certain things. "I suppose the magic could be brought on by mutated genes."
"And you've been sending others across for years." She makes it a statement instead of a question.
"Yes. There is a settlement about three kilometers to the north. Would you like me to take you there?"
I feel her step closer to me. She is trembling. "No. Take me home, William."
I offer her my hand. She takes it and breathes deeply.
"Close your eyes," I say. I call the magic and we step back into my living room. It is cold and we are both naked, except for the blanket wrapped around Maria.
"You're not going to come with me, are you?" Maria asks. "You're going to stay here and keep sending others across."
I nod my head. "Maria – Maria, you and the children could come with me. We could step into the other world and leave this one behind."
Even as the words leave my mouth I know her answer. She can no more stop being a starship pilot than I can stop being a creature of magic.
"I'm sorry, William. It is a beautiful place, but I have responsibilities, and—"
I hold up a hand. "I understand."
Maria sighs deeply, takes my hand in her metallic one, and leads me back to bed. There is nothing left to say, so we do not waste time with words. Maria settles on the bed and pulls me down to her. Later we curl up and sleep in each other's arms.
In the morning she is gone.
#
Maria sends a message eight months after her ship leaves for deep space.
In it she says she has decided to become a resident of New Topeka. Maria explains that it will give her a place to stay when she is on leave, and a home when she retires to watch her future grandchildren grow up.
She describes the planet from the survey team's report: The grass is tinged light purple, and the sky a darker blue than Earth's. Near the settlement there is an emerald-colored lake, all surrounded by a snow-covered mountain range.
Maria says she has procured clearance for me to emigrate off Earth, and in one year another ship of colonists will leave for New Topeka.
"Come to me there," her message ends.
I laugh and shrug on my small backpack. I finally understand the truth of what I told Maria that night.
We take adventurous people to new worlds.
This is the magic we share, Maria and I. This is what the magic has always promised: new worlds. Maria understood this when she first left Earth, twenty-one years ago. And now I understand, and accept the gift that is offered.
I pick up the cane she made for me with her own hands: one of flesh, one metal. I focus my mind on the images she described, modifying my fading memories of Earth's physical features to match those of New Topeka. I think about her voice, her scent, her skin under my fingers, the taste of her lips.
I swish the cane and step forward.
