The Lonely Whelk

by Ariele Sieling

  “I agree,” Quin nodded. He turned to Kaia. “You should probably follow John. But don’t get too close, or he might start throwing things.”

  “Yes, sir!” Kaia agreed, and ran after John.

  Clyde lay quietly in his bed, waiting for his alarm to go off. This was his favourite part of the day – the morning, as the sun was rising. He liked to quietly count from one to one thousand, stretching his mind to become in tune with time as it slowly ticked by. Nine-hundred and one. Nine-hundred and two.

  The shades covering his window opened with a loud snap. The sun poured into his room, as if a dam had broken. Clyde groaned softly.

  “Good morning, sleepyhead,” his mother declared. He could see her curls silhouetted in the morning light. “The Globe called this morning.”

  “What?” Clyde exclaimed. He sat up abruptly and looked at the clock. The alarm hadn’t gone off. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

  “Wake up my baby?” She stepped forward, smiling, and reached out to smooth down his hair. “You looked so peaceful! Just like when you were a toddler! I couldn’t have.”

  “What did they want?” he asked, swinging his legs over the side of his bed.

  “They want you to interview for a guard position.”

  Clyde’s jaw and mouth formed an oddly-shaped ‘O,’ and his eyebrows nearly leaped from his forehead. “When?”

  She glanced at her watch. “Oh, in about forty-five minutes.”

  Taking a deep breath, Clyde closed his eyes and counted to five. Frustration threatened to overflow; his mind scrambled to find anything from Ivanna the Bard to help him control his tongue. Under his breath he whispered, “Speak only what you wish to be heard, for once spoken, words cannot be unsaid.”

  “Are you mad, sweetie? You don’t have to go. I mean, you’re so talented you could get a job anywhere!” she smiled and smoothed his hair back again.

  “I could, but, ‘inaction is made up of lost opportunity, and opportunities gained and lost dictate the fate of the world,’“ Clyde recited. “Please leave my room so I can get dressed.”

  “Well, okay.” She gave him a concerned look. “Don’t get too frazzled! You have plenty of time!”

  He guided her towards his bedroom door and closed it behind her, immediately spinning around and bolting into the bathroom. Five minutes later he reappeared in a shirt, tie, and boxers. His hair was wet.

  “Mom!” he grumbled. She was sitting on his bed. “Please!”

  “Oh, sorry, dear. I just wanted to tell you that your jacket is at the cleaners. You won’t be able to wear it to your interview.”

  Clyde took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Exasperation frustrates all, but a deep breath calms the heart and clears the head, he thought. He raised his eyebrows at his mother. “Out.”

  She frowned, and then smiled a little. “As you wish. Don’t be late!” She strode from the room.

  He pulled his pants on, tightened his belt, and stuffed his feet into his shoes. Walking down the stairs was tricky, due to the fact that his shoes weren’t entirely on his feet, but he managed that, and even managed to grab a muffin on his way out.

  His mother stood at the door as he ran past. She held out an envelope. “Some extra resumes, dear!”

  “Thank you,” he said, and, kissing her on the cheek, hailed the first cab that drove by.

  He lived in a heavily populated section of the city, but the house had more space surrounding it than any other house in the area. It was so large that he and his mother could be in it together for several days and never bump into each other. He tended to stick to two or three rooms, though, so maybe they would see each other more frequently if he ever bothered to wander into the other areas of the house. How they afforded it was a mystery to him, but he was not one to spend excessive amounts of time contemplating the enigma. He assumed their financial state had something to do with his dad’s unfortunate and untimely death. He often wished he had gotten to know the man, but his mother refused to talk about him and Clyde didn’t like to push. At any rate, they were provided for. His mom might not feel obligated to hold down a job, but he would prove his worth if it killed him.

  “The Globe, please,” he said to the cab driver.

  She nodded and screeched down the street, and then rapidly came to a halt as a kid on a wheelie-board hurtled out into the road in front of them. Clyde closed his eyes as a deep breath filled his lungs and oxygen rushed through his body. He imagined oxygen looked like miniature racecars barreling from his heart to his brain and back. As long as he kept breathing and didn’t eat too much corn syrup or processed foods, there would be no traffic jams in his veins.

  He rested his hands on his knees and stared at the thin threads on the seat in front of him. They weaved in and out of each other so cleanly, united and whole. Focusing his mind, he began to recite possible interview questions silently: What challenges did you face and how did you handle them? What was your biggest accomplishment? Failure? What do you expect from a supervisor? Why did you leave your last job? How do you alleviate stress? What projects have you worked on? What five words would you use to describe yourself?

  A few minutes later, as the cab pulled up in front of the Globe, Clyde realized that he had been reciting the questions, but not the answers. He sighed and handed the driver some cash.

  The Globe was an amazing building. The base of the building began wide, but narrowed until it met the massive sphere that rested on the top of the spike, high in the sky. It was, according to the book Sam’s Tourist Tips and Take-Outs, the tallest building in the city. The base was made of a dark obsidian-coloured stone, and the Globe itself was made entirely made of glass. Sam’s explained that the glassblower, a Maddox Oliphant, blew the globe himself, using his own invention – a giant raindrop-shaped fan with its own air-generation system. The point on the top of the sphere was a warning to any invading alien species, although no one was quite sure what the warning said.

  Clyde wasn’t sure how reliable Sam’s Tourist Tips and Takeouts was, but the building was incredible and always looked like it was glowing. He took a deep breath. It was time to interview.

  He strode towards the building, chanting silently: one step forward and one step back: even a clumsy man can dance. He might be clumsy, but this time, he would dance.

  Holland curled up on the floor, sobbing. Images flashed across her eyelids: Hawkings’ dead body in the chair, the stars twinkling in the vast void of night on the other side of the windows, the rows and rows of coffins lying parallel to one another and containing the bodies of her friends — and she was alone. Completely alone.

  This was an emotional cocktail: sadness, mixed with fear, mixed with rage, and salted with a little bit of relief – relief that she was alive and not dead, relief that her crew would be there soon, and relief that Hawkings had at least had the foresight to wake her up. But the relief masked the other emotions only for a moment, and then her mind was awash with them all simultaneously. After listening to and feeling her feelings wreak havoc with her body and mind, it all began to settle into one, solid, interminable sadness. Her hands trembled, the muscles in her back tensed, and her throat and eyes began to burn.

  She didn’t count the minutes or hours that passed; she merely focused on taking one breath after another after another.

  Finally, she took a deep breath and sat up. She imagined her backbone was made of iron and coated with the polymer that made the Radovine spaceships invincible. She imagined that she was a robot, being piloted by a faraway mind, and that she had been commanded to start working. She imagined that she was anyone but herself, and anywhere but here.

  The ship was running on autopilot, so there shouldn’t be much for her to do yet except to start waking up the others. But she wanted to double-check – six hundred years is a long time, and anything could have happened. The problem was Hawkings. His corpse sat awkwardly in the chair. Although moving him seemed the best option, she wasn’t sure she had the strength. Instead, she pres
sed the button on the side of the chair. It slowly revolved, taking the body with it. When Hawkings faced away from the console, she carefully stepped between the back of the chair and the console, and could now see the screen.

  This would require a few more deep breaths. News of her son, news of her home, news of the world that danced in its own track around its own sun — that would need to wait. Right now, this ship and these people were her responsibility.

  “Computer,” she said. “Status report.”

  “Hello, Holland,” said the computer.

  Holland cringed. “Hello, Lady Mastin.”

  “You may call me Computer.” The console began to hum. Graphs and sensor readings began to stream past, blue lines penetrating Holland’s mind but somehow still seeming so far away. “Life support: 100 percent. Power: 98 percent. Engines: full auto. Shielding: 83 percent.”

  “Why only 83 percent?” Holland interrupted the computer, frowning. When they left Sagitta, the shielding was projected to be at 100 percent until they reached their destination. It had automatic repairing capabilities which worked on most rocks and asteroids, although it would do little against weapons or a black hole.

  “We hit an asteroid belt,” replied the computer. “Electronics functioning except in Corridor 11.”

  “Wait, wait, go back,” Holland said, gesturing at the console screen. The lines froze and she leaned in to look closer. “There was a power spike about twenty minutes ago in Corridor 11. What is that? Is that why it isn’t working?”

  The computer hummed for a moment. “Unknown.”

  “What do you mean, unknown?” Holland’s frown deepened.

  “Unknown.”

  “But you’re supposed to know! You’re supposed to know everything!”

  “Unknown.”

  “What about the people in the Corridor 11 stasis room?”

  “Life support on secondary power.”

  “Well, that’s okay for now. Finish the report. Tell me about the stasis pods.”

  “Stasis pods: 57 percent capacity.”

  “Wait, what? 57 percent?” Holland’s breathing became jagged and irregular. Nothing made sense and she hated it when things were out of control.

  “43 percent drained.”

  “When we left, Computer, we were at 100 percent capacity. And if we’re at 57 percent, that means...” Holland took a deep breath. “Tell me what happened.”

  “Power malfunction in Corridor 3, 5, and 7.”

  “When?”

  “One year previous.”

  Holland gripped the edges of the console until her knuckles turned white. “One year ago, 57 percent of the people on this ship died? Are they really dead? Why didn’t Hawkings wake me up then?”

  “Affirmative. You must review the ship’s log.”

  Dead. A coffin room that was really a coffin room. Dozens of coffin rooms, in fact, that were actually filled with coffins. When the ship had left Sagitta there had been over 50,000 people sleeping on board. More than enough to colonize the new planet. Over 28,000 of those people were dead. Dead. On her ship.

  She cried again as her fingers scrambled to bring up the ship’s log. As soon as Hawkings’ face appeared, she hit pause and turned to look at his body.

  “I should probably move him,” she said. The computer did not respond.

  She flexed her hands. Moving him very far was not likely to happen, but at very least she could get him onto the floor and into a more comfortable-looking position. Reaching forward, she slid her hands under his armpits and pulled him forward. His head fell against her shoulder. A shiver ran through her entire body; goose bumps raised the hair on every inch of her skin. He was dead, but hadn’t been for very long.

  Sliding his butt forward, she dropped him to the floor.

  There was a thump. She would never forget that thump. It didn’t sound like much, but she knew that the knowledge that his corpse made a thump when it hit the floor would haunt her dreams for the rest of her life. She sobbed once and leaned down to drag his body away from the console. He was heavy, but lighter than she expected, which meant either he had lost a lot of weight, or she was stronger than she had anticipated.

  Her legs wobbled as she pulled on his arms. She laid him flat on his back and pushed his arms to his sides. Next, she closed his eyes which stared blankly towards the star-dotted ceiling, and did her best to tidy his clothes. She would need help to finish dealing with him, after she woke up the crew.

  Holland went back to the Commander’s seat and sat. Hawkings’ face stared up at her from the console. He was smiling. A tear dripped down her face as she reached out and hit “play.”

  “Holland,” he said. “Hello. Good morning. I hope you slept well and imagine you will never want to sleep again. If you’re watching this without me, it’s because I’m dead. I’m sorry I missed you.”

  Holland began to sob. His face was so old – wrinkled and more wrinkled – and grey hairs covered his head. Even his stubble was completely grey. He sat hunched over the computer, and as she stared at him, she noticed how his eyelids drooped around his eyes. That one detail jarred her: he was so old, growing close to a millennium. It was amazing that he had lasted even this long. When they were young, they hadn’t even considered this. It was supposed to have been a happy reunion; they had been immortal back then.

  On the screen his face turned grave. “All is not well, I’m afraid, although Lady Mastin and Jacobs lived happy lives. We lived for the moments when we got to wake someone up for a few days, and Jacobs did an amazing job with the arboretum. I am old, and lately have been feeling less than myself. I find it difficult to move from room to room, and often spend days sitting in the same spot, staring at the stars and playing games on the console.

  “As such, I feel the need to give you a bit of a rundown, so you don’t have to spend time digging through the files. You have more pressing matters to attend to.

  “We hit an asteroid stream one year ago. It was undetected by our systems. Unfortunately, they were made by an alien race – a weapon of some sort that we didn’t recognize. The attack did severe damage to our shielding system, although it still holds. It was decreased to 12 percent – a critical level, but immediately after we flew by the stream, I woke up Thompson and Davies and they managed to fix most of the equipment. That brought the shields back up to 83 percent.”

  A fit of coughing interrupted his explanation. Holland’s eyes creased in compassion as she watched him hack and try to clear his throat.

  “During the alien asteroid stream, we also lost power in Corridors 3, 5, and 7. Those were coffin rooms. We lost a lot of good people. I am sorry. We held a service and taped it – watch video log 11137.

  “Currently we are three weeks out from the planet. My instructions were to wake you at two weeks, but I am afraid I will die first, and I am the last one. Jacobs died last night.

  Hawkings moved out of the view of the camera to show a still body lying on the floor behind him.

  “We’re in the secondary pilot chamber and I can’t move him.”

  Holland let out a gasp. It was too much. Her emotions were overriding her logic and it felt as though a giant weight had settled on her shoulders.

  “Anyway, I’m coming to wake you up, now. I hope I can stay alive long enough to actually talk to you. I have missed you so much, little sister. Whatever happens, I want you to know that I love you and am so proud of you. Keep it up, Holland, and good luck.”

  Holland collapsed into tears and sobbed herself into a temporary and debatably-needed sleep.

  Maxwell reached downtown much sooner than anticipated. He sat down on a bench to watch the people go by.

  “Look at them all,” he said to Maddy. “They have no idea what’s about to happen – no idea at all.”

  “You can’t see the future either,” Maddy said.

  “I am still different, though. I have a special ability to, not see the future exactly, but to understand it.”

  Maddy nodded. “T
hat makes sense. You are an amazing person!”

  A broad smile crossed his features. “I knew you would understand,” he whispered. “You always do.”

  A street vendor walked by selling morning donuts.

  “Excuse me, sir,” Maxwell called.

  “Hello, there,” the vendor replied.

  “I would like two of those, one for me and one for my beautiful friend, here.” He gestured to the air behind him.

  “Of course, Mr. Dippings.” The vendor nodded politely to Maxwell and then said, “Looking lovely today, Ms. Maddy.”

  Maxwell beamed, and paid for the two donuts. “You have a nice day now!”

  He offered a donut to the beautiful woman walking beside him.

  “I think since we are early,” Maxwell said, waving to the vendor and walking down the sidewalk, “perhaps we shall go look for the key before our meeting. This will save time later on.”

  “It is on the way,” Maddy replied.

  “You’re right! It is on the way, so it makes sense anyway.”

  This part of town was largely filled with shops. Yofstek’s Slumgum and the Boollery Toy Store were two of his favourites, and he tipped his hat to the curators of William Oliphant, bookseller, and Pete’s Clocks.

  “Maybe we can stop by the new candy store on our way home, Maddy, if it’s not too late,” he said. Maddy loved candy.

  Slowly, the quaint shops turned into brick and metal office buildings and corporate headquarters. He led Maddy right up to The Globe.

  “Welcome to the Globe, Maddy!” he said. “The most famous building on the planet!”

  “It’s so tall!” she exclaimed.

  He followed the sidewalk towards the main entrance, but veered off through the grass towards the gardens which surrounded the building. “These gardens are always so nice and well-kept,” he said. “Although, I feel that the money might be better spent on housing for the poor.”

  Tall bushes rose up around him as he stepped into the garden. Brightly coloured flowers lined the path, and small and large statues hid among the foliage.