by Jason Gurley
I understand your frustration, the administrator is saying.
It's not easy to hear, but Micah watches anyway. The crowd pushes against him. A woman leans in close and shouts something at the administrator, who takes a step back and speaks into his wrist. Micah sees movement at the periphery of his vision and turns to see several more people in uniforms rushing to the administrator's aid.
Within moments, the uniformed newcomers have quelled the crowd. The administrator speaks to one man in particular, and that man steps out of line.
The man is immaculately and expensively dressed. His hair is perfectly coiffed, and he stands straight and tall and confident.
The man is holding a small gray card.
Micah puts his own card back into his pocket.
The administrator takes the man's bag from him and escorts him away from the line. Micah watches as they approach a series of freestanding clear tubes. The administrator stops in front of one of the tubes. The tube stretches upward to the ceiling, which itself seems to be many miles away, its detail hazy and obscured by distance. The bottom of the tube rotates, and Micah can see that there is an outer and an inner layer. These rotate in opposite directions until they align, revealing an opening wide enough for the administrator and his guest to step through.
The tube's layers rotate again, sealing the two men inside. A moment later, the men are levitated upward.
Micah and his fellow passengers watch the two men float higher within the tube. Then they disappear through the ceiling, two small packages whisked away to some unknown destination.
Micah fingers the card inside of his pocket dubiously.
Lucky bastard, someone says.
He's not the only one, says another.
She's correct. Administrators are scuttling up and down the passenger lines like beetles. Here and there they pry a passenger out of line. Each of these selected passengers are well-dressed.
Each bears a small gray card.
Would you ever want to live someplace else?
I don't know. I like it here.
I know. And it's beautiful. But what about someplace equally beautiful?
You aren't happy here?
I am. Of course I am. Micah -- I am.
Is there someplace you want to go? Morocco or someplace?
Well...
There is. And it's better than this? Better than the ocean and the orange trees and the rain?
Micah, this place is lovely. I'm so happy you brought me here.
But you want to leave.
I don't know why we can't just have a conversation.
Alright. Fine. Let's talk about it.
Not like this. It's not even important. It's not even real. Forget about it.
I can't forget about it. Clearly this is important to you.
Micah --
Well, where is it? France? Australia?
Micah.
Belgium? Maybe Portugal is a nicer place than this.
You're being cruel.
I'm not. Tell me where.
It's none of those places. It's not important.
Italy?
Micah.
Is it Italy?
No, it's not Italy.
Alright. Which direction from Italy?
Micah. Jesus.
Which direction?
Up.
What? Up?
Up.
Okay. Alaska. Greenland.
Up.
The Arctic Circle. That's got to be it. You want to live on an icebreaker ship, saving polar bears. That's obviously better than here.
Up.
The North Pole.
More up.
There's no more up you can go!
You're not listening to me. You never listen when you get like this.
Look, the North Pole is the top. There's no more up.
You weren't listening.
All I do is listen to you!
I didn't say north, asshole. I said up.
Bernard and his granddaughter are somewhere in the middle of the line. The girl is still on his shoulder, but sleeping now.
Micah falls out of the line and quickly walks to where the old man is standing.
Hey, someone says.
Micah turns and, walking backward, says, No, no, I'm not jumping the line. It's okay.
He reaches Bernard and puts his hand on the old man's shoulder. Bernard, he says.
Bernard turns. He is sweating profusely.
Micah, the old man says.
Are you okay?
Bernard nods at the girl. She is not a little bird any more. But she is tired, and so for now, I will hold her as long as I can.
It's a long line, though, Micah says.
You are an astute observer, Bernard replies, not without some sarcasm.
I brought you something, Bernard. Here.
Bernard's eyebrows raise. Oh?
Here, Micah repeats.
Bernard looks down and sees Micah's hand holding a gray card. The old man's eyes widen. What are you doing, Micah? he asks. Do you know what that is?
Sort of, Micah says.
You don't have to be here, man. Go!
Bernard turns, looking about for an administrator.
Micah grabs his shoulder. No, he says. I want you to take it.
Bernard jostles the woman ahead of him in line. She whirls about.
I'm sorry, Bernard says. But the woman's irritation is defused by the card she sees in Micah's hand.
Dear god, she says. You have a card? You have a card!
No, Micah says. No, it's --
Who has a card? someone else says.
This man here has a card, the woman says.
Micah turns back to Bernard. I want you to have this, he says. Please.
He tries to push the card into Bernard's hand, but the old man snatches his hand away. What are you doing? Micah!
Take it, Micah repeats.
It is too much, Bernard protests. It is too valuable. I can't.
Give it to me, the woman interrupts, reaching for the card.
Micah turns away from her. It's not for you, he says.
If you're giving it away, I want it, someone else says.
Micah presses the card into Bernard's hand again. Please. It would help you.
The line begins to come apart around the two men. Strangers surge into the gaps, pushing.
I'll take it! someone shouts.
Give it to me!
I must have it! It would change my baby's life!
Please!
Me!
Give it!
Micah takes advantage of the commotion to close Bernard's fingers around the card. The old man looks confused to find the card in his hand, and Micah tries to melt away in the mob of passengers.
What's happening here? a deep voice booms.
Instantly the crowd begins to dissolve, and Micah sees one of the red-suited administrators stalking towards him. He's carrying a baton in one hand.
Nothing, someone says.
Everything's fine!
I didn't do it!
It's not mine!
The administrator spies the card in Bernard's hand. His gaze shifts to Bernard's worried face, then back to the card.
Sir, the administrator says to Bernard.
It's not his card, someone snitches.
The administrator turns toward the passengers behind Bernard, then looks back at Bernard. Is this true? Is this your card?
Bernard is petrified. His granddaughter starts awake, her face flushed.
Grandpa? she says, her voice fuzzy with sleep.
Sir? Is that card yours?
Bernard holds up the card, unable to find his voice.
It's mine, Micah says, stepping forward.
Bernard's entire body relaxes, and the card falls to the floor.
The administrator puts the toe of his boot on the card. He studies Micah's face carefully, then his attire.
This card belongs to you? he asks Micah.
&
nbsp; Micah nods. It does.
This man did not steal it from you? The administrator indicates Bernard with his baton.
Bernard tenses at the sight of the stick pointed in his direction.
Micah reaches out and tips the baton toward the floor. The administrator steps back quickly.
Absolutely he didn't steal it, Micah says. I wanted to give it to him.
The administrator looks suspicious. You wanted to give him your Onyx card.
Bernard finds his voice. I didn't try to take it!
Onyx cards are not transferable, the administrator says sternly.
I didn't want it! Bernard cries.
I didn't know that, Micah says.
I find that difficult to believe, the administrator says. Every Onyx cardholder knows that the card is not transferable.
I didn't, Micah says. I inherited it from my wife.
From your wife, the administrator echoes.
She's gone, Micah says. I wanted to give the card away.
Bernard looks at Micah. His expression changes. All of his alarm and tension vanishes, and in its place is a look of such pure compassion that Micah has to turn away. He knows that look. He's seen it before, on other faces. On the faces of people who have lost people. On the faces of people who still feel the prick of loss every morning when they turn over in bed.
It doesn't really work that way, sir, the administrator says.
I didn't know that.
It's alright, the administrator says. Then he turns his mouth into his wrist and says something that Micah doesn't quite hear.
Micah glances at Bernard, who is still looking at him with those terribly sad eyes.
It's okay, Micah mouths at him.
Bernard shakes his head sadly and mouths something back that looks like, So young.
Then an escort in a soft gray uniform arrives, and the administrator says to Micah, Please, allow Mr. Hedderly to take your bag.
The escort smiles at Micah. His teeth are impossibly white. Every last one of them is perfectly placed and perfectly visible. May I, sir?
Micah sighs and looks at Bernard, and then at the administrator. Couldn't I just stay in line?
Behind him, a woman says, He did not just say that.
I'm afraid not, sir, the administrator says. May I?
He holds his hand out for the card.
Micah gives it to him.
Your thumb, sir.
The administrator turns the card over to reveal the rectangle printed there.
Micah sighs again, then presses his thumb down on the rectangle. The card lights up, and Mae's face appears on its surface. Her name, identification code, and physical attributes are drawn in beside it.
Mae Isabella Atherton-Sparrow
0522FG010-EPG
H 5'3" W 112
Micah stares at the photograph of Mae. He remembers the day that they visited the Settlement Transition Bureau. They had fought that day. He hadn't wanted to go, which was usually enough to deter Mae. That day had been different. She had gone anyway, without telling him, and it wasn't until weeks later that he found the Onyx card in her bag while he was looking for the chocolates she often kept hidden there. He had been angry.
The photograph was perhaps the most beautiful picture of Mae he had ever seen. It was low-quality, with artifacts that interrupted the image. Like most global agencies, the STB didn't spend much on equipment. It didn't matter how bad the photograph itself was. The image of Mae that shone through was beautiful because of her expression.
It was the purest expression of happiness and hope. Her eyes were alive, brighter and larger than life. Her smile stretched wider than he had imagined possible, shoving her round cheeks high. Her skin was flushed, as if she couldn't believe what was happening, couldn't contain her excitement.
He had never seen her so happy before.
You don't mean --
Yes. Up.
Up.
Yes.
I can't.
You have to admit it would be beautiful.
But I... I. Up?
Up, Micah. Up there. It would be beautiful, too. Not like this, but beautiful in other ways. Beautiful because it would mean something... more.
It's a million miles away.
Well, no. It's not.
Fine, okay. Not a million, but it might as well be. Jesus, Mae.
I didn't know you felt strongly about it.
I feel strongly about Earth! Under my feet! I like standing here. Do you know who built this pier? No? Well, I do. His name was Marcus Perrine, and he was twenty-eight when he built it with his bare hands as a gift for his bride. It's been here for nearly eighty years. There's history here. I like history.
There's history there, too. More history, even.
Don't be ridiculous. It's not the same.
You really wouldn't? For me?
I'm not a spaceman, Mae.
You wouldn't even think about it?
I'm from Earth. What's up there that isn't here? Don't scientists spend their careers looking for places just like Earth? Why do you think that is? It's because its Earths that matter. They're rare and precious and beautiful and amazing. And I like living here. It smells nice. It makes my heart happy.
Not even for me?
Mae.
Micah.
You're asking so much.
It would be the grandest adventure. It would be thrilling every day.
No, it wouldn't. It would be terribly boring.
I've dreamed of going there since they built the first one. Galileo. I was eight.
You've dreamed of moving to space since you were eight years old.
Yes! Yes, Micah. I wanted to watch the sun rise.
What do you think we just watched?
Not here, Micah. To watch the sun rise over the entire planet. I want to float! I want to float like a feather. I want to --
You want to live in a dark cold scary vacuum that will kill you.
Yes. I do, I do! Because we tamed it, Micah. Look what we did! Look up, you can even see them up there now.
I don't want to look up.
Now you're just being petulant.
Living in orbit would make me miserable.
How do you --
Some things you just know. You just do.
You really wouldn't even consider it?
What about our families, Mae? What about Christmases and Thanksgivings and birthdays?
Maybe they'll all come with us. Who knows! Don't you think being a part of something greater than yourself is worth missing a few family holidays?
Not a few, Mae. All of them. Or didn't you know that you can't come back?
I knew it.
So, really, you're okay with leaving our families forever. Is that what they mean to you?
You're missing the point, Micah.
Oh, am I.
I've always wondered what an impasse feels like.
Don't be dramatic.
Well, what would you call it?
So we're doomed, is that it? Because I don't want to be a spaceman with you?
Don't make light.
Look. Mae. I love you. You know I do.
I need a few minutes.
You know I'd do anything for you.
Micah, give me a minute. Okay?
I should go inside?
Forget it. I will.
Wait. Mae, wait.
The image of Mae and her details disappear from the card. A simple red line of text appears in its place.
Deceased January 7 2178
The administrator glances up at Micah, then back down at the card. He touches it with two fingers, and the red text disappears. A single small dot dances on the card. The administrator says, Inheritor.
Micah blinks, only now realizing that his eyes are damp.
The blinking dot vanishes, and a new profile appears. Where the photo should be, there is a simple empty box.
Micah Roderick Sparrow
0627J007-1211-E
H 5'11" W 192
You can remove your thumb now, the administrator says. Stand up straight, Mr. Sparrow.
The administrator holds the card at Micah's eye level. The surface of the card reflects Micah's face back at him. He is startled to see that he has two long tear-streaks on his skin, and he quickly wipes them away with the heels of his palms.
Big smile, the administrator says. One. Two. Three. Snap!
The image on the card freezes.
The administrator turns the card over and looks at the image, then up at Micah. Maybe one more try? he says.
Micah shakes his head.
The image is the exact opposite of Mae's. Micah's expression is one of a lost soul.
Unlike Mae's beautiful smile, Micah has seen this expression on his face every day for two years.
Mr. Sparrow, says the escort in the gray suit. Shall we?
Micah looks at Bernard. I'm sorry, he says.
Bernard nods. Me, too.
I meant --
I know what you meant. Be well, Micah.
The escort takes the Onyx card from the administrator and returns it to Micah.
Micah absently tucks it into his pocket.
Mr. Sparrow, the administrator says, extending his hand. Welcome to Argus Station.
Onyx
What are you doing?
Reading. You're in my light.
Maybe we should talk about this.
I don't want to.
It's important that we work these things out. Otherwise what are we?
I don't want to talk about it, Micah.
Mae.
Leave me alone.
What are you reading?
Leave me alone, please.
We'll talk about it later.
Whatever.
Micah stares at his reflection in the mirror. He is older than he remembers. He has crows' feet on either side of his tired brown eyes. When he concentrates, it looks like someone has pulled a rake across his forehead. There are fault lines, deep ones, framing his mouth. The effect is that his face looks as if it has been assembled from several pieces. He forces an inauthentic smile and watches the lines deepen and shift.
He sighs, and bends over the sink and splashes water on his face.
The sun has broken over the Earth since he last looked outside. The view from his apartment makes him ill. He pads barefoot across the chamber to a window that spans the entire exterior wall, from the floor of his apartment to the high ceiling. The glass is deeply tinted, but the orange glow that suffuses the city below is powerful all the same.
