Anthology of Speculative Fiction, Volume Two

by Short Story Anthology

  “Oh, Lin always pukes after her first hit. Want some?” He offers a red inhaler, but I decline.

  We sit beside the pond, all of us squeezed on a log. Lin sits next to me, and I pop up the straw of the readimade for her. “You okay?” I say.

  “Yeah, I always get all shunbeen when I deepen.”

  “It’s probably none of my business,” I say, “but shouldn’t you kids be in school or something?”

  “School closed four months ago,” she says. “Not enough teachers.”

  “So what do you do all day?”

  She wipes saliva from her cheek and shrugs. “I don’t know. This.”

  Another boy goes off to puke in the woods.

  “What about you?” she says. “You live here all by yourself?”

  I nod.

  “And what do you do all day? Hang out with the frogs?”

  “Most of my time I just try to keep the stascreen working.”

  “That your job or something?”

  “Used to be. I was a stascreen engineer for fifty-one years. I designed the nanofilters that keep ecosystems like this free of envirotoxins. But the NRDC laid me off four years back.”

  “Why? This place is xin!”

  I smile wanly. “Because toxfiltering’s a dead business now. People are only interested in making new life, not preserving the old.”

  She seems to take me in for the first time. “And how old is this place, Abner? These trees look cheeda ancient.”

  “I know that when my ancestor built this house four hundred years ago, the frog pond was already here.”

  She sighs. “Fucking NEU making you leave this place?”

  “They’re making everyone leave.”

  She throws a rock into the pond, and a dozen frogs squeak away in fright.

  “Please,” I say, gently touching her arm. “You’ll scare them off.”

  “How long?” she says, giving me a tender look, and I’m not sure if she means the frogs or my eviction.

  “Soon.”

  The kids grow hungry again. I had been saving some hard-to-find vegisteaks for my grandkids, but they haven’t visited in ages. As I grill them on the deck the smoke rises through the trees, and the dipping sun sends girders of light through the branches.

  The kids inhale more braino, howl with laughter, and Lin pukes again. And when they tire, I glimpse something desperate in their bloodshot eyes, something I’ve seen in the expressions of Cordelia and Dr. Wu and Marta and the other holdouts. Regret doesn’t spare you just because you’re young.

  “You cycled all the way from Albany for this?” I ask Lin.

  “Nothing but dust and skyscrapers there,” she says. “No real trees. We heard this was xin. Do you have kids, Abner?”

  The question catches me off-guard. “Yeah, a son and daughter. And two grandkids. You sort of remind me of my granddaughter, Rachael.”

  She pauses to consider this. “They come here lots?”

  “Not anymore.”

  “Why not? I’d be here every day.”

  “They’ve moved.” I point to the sky.

  She frowns, and her body sags like an old tree. “We’re moving too.”

  “New Earth?”

  She harrumphs. “Nah, that’s only for rich kids. We’re going to Wal-Mart Toyota.”

  “Haven’t heard of it.”

  “You wouldn’t. It’s like cheeda ancient, one of the first orbitals. But you gotta go where they send you, or else, you know?”

  “I know,” I say, staring at the upside-down trees reflected in the water.

  Night creeps over the forest and the frogs begin their mating calls in earnest. The croaking rises to a din, and the kids pause and listen. The glorious stars emerge, and I’m not sure if it’s my imagination, but the frogs seem to plead to them, over and over again, “Save us, save us, save us!”

  We listen for a while, until the frogs tire. “It’s late,” I say. “It’s a long way back to Albany. Why don’t you kids stay? There are plenty of beds.”

  So we head inside. I set them up with fresh linen I haven’t used in years, and during the night I hear fucking and shuffling and laughing as I pour myself tumbler after tumbler of rye whiskey until I pass out. Late in the night, I hear someone whimpering outside my door, and I rise groggily from bed. Lin sits in the hallway, her eyes as red as cinders as she looks up at me.

  “I’m sorry,” she says, wiping away tears. “I didn’t know that was your bedroom.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing,” she says as she climbs to her feet.

  “You okay?”

  “I was just thinking. You don’t know us, Abner, but you welcomed us into your home.”

  I shrug. “This place was made for guests.”

  She stares at the walls. “Must have been beautiful, when it was full of people.”

  I nod. “It was.”

  She stands there, and again she reminds me of my granddaughter who I never see. I want to hug her and tell her the future will be xin, that everything will work out, eventually. But I’m too drunk to lie. “It’s late, Lin. Go to bed.”

  A tear rolls down her cheek. She nods and turns away. I close the door, feeling as if I’ve missed something important. It takes me forever to fall back asleep.

  The next morning, the kids are gone. The house looks as if a tornado has blown through. But one bedroom has been tidied, and there’s a note on the nightstand.

  “The frogs are beautiful. You are beautiful. Thank you for a perfect day. —Lin.”

  I hold the note in my hand and stare out the window into the empty yard. I already miss their laughter.

  ***

  Several months before I received the evac order, I visited New Earth for the first time. My son Josef played the guide and took me to the Ishibuto-Mori preserve, a dense rainforest on the northern hemisphere. Giant sequoias planted a few years ago had already grown hundreds of feet tall, carrion flowers had been gengineered to smell like cotton candy, and the rains came precisely at 2:00 p.m. every day.

  Clear plexi walls kept us safe on a paved path that led us, like Dorothy to Oz, to John Muir Mall. It was a palatial marketplace where they seemed to have anticipated every human need. Food, clothing, jewelry, a pub, an immersion cinema, a spa. All was here, square in the middle of the rainforest. A holohost welcomed us to the mall’s courtyard and carefully explained, as if he were speaking to children, how Old Earth had become uninhabitable, how humanity’s first home was ruined forever because Those Before had no appreciation for the natural world. But the Ishibuto-Mori Corporation, along with dozens of other companies, were hard at work ensuring that New Earth avoided this fate.

  As my son and I ate oversized burgers in the courtyard of Pfizer’s McDonald’s, I noticed that no one looked up when Earth rose above the forest canopy. Before the next scheduled rain we left for home.

  Josef’s family lived in a spacious and many-windowed apartment on the ninety-seventh floor of a three-hundred-story tower. Luxury condos like these, Josef said, were popping up all over New Earth. My heart warmed when I saw my grandkids, Rachael and Pim. It had been several years since I’d seen them in person—they didn’t visit Earth anymore. Today was Pim’s twelfth birthday.

  My grandson blew out his candles and we all shared papaya cake. On cues from my daughter-in-law, a shining mahogany andro poured coffee, brought out cookies, and cleared the dirty dishes. I felt like a princely CEO. On Earth natural grain was absurdly expensive and hard to come by, but on New Earth it seemed as plentiful as the scheduled rain.

  “Pim’s not the only one celebrating today,” Josef said, in between sips of coffee. “Tell Grandpa the good news, Rach.”

  My granddaughter beamed and said, “I got a full scholarship to GE Sinopec!”

  “GE Sinopec?” I said.

  “An orbital university!”

  “Oh, wa!” I said. “A full scholarship? That’s xin!”

  “As a reward,” Josef said, “Esther and I have de
cided to buy Rach a small lobber. You’d be surprised at how affordable they’ve become.”

  “I can visit Mom and Dad on weekends,” Rachael said, “and fly back to school on Sundays. And Grandpa, there’s this low-fuel maneuver called a Hohmann Transfer that lets you fly over to Old Earth in a couple hours. Me and Leva are definitely headed there when they start dismantling it, to get a closer view.”

  “Rachael,” Esther said with an admonishing tone. “Why don’t you see if Grandpa wants more coffee?”

  “He’s got coffee. And isn’t that what you bought the andro for?”

  “Rachael, don’t be rude!”

  “But, Mom, his cup is full!”

  “Rachael Kopperfeld!”

  “Please!” I said. “Yes, yes, they’re dismantling Old Earth. It’s no gaise secret. Why does everyone avoid that subject around me?”

  “Because every time we bring it up,” Josef said, “you go on a rant about how they’re tearing down your home.”

  I stared at my son. “It was once your home too, if you remember.”

  Josef frowned. “That was a long time ago, Dad.” He waved his hand at his apartment. “This is my home now, and I’d like to have a nice birthday for Pim.”

  “Is the frog pond still there, Grandpa?” Pim asked.

  “Yes! It’s been a struggle to keep the pond free of toxins, but the frogs still croak away on summer nights. Do you remember when you used to put them in boxes to scare the hell out of Grandma Shosh?”

  He giggled. “And Rach used make up silly names and marry them.”

  “They got so loud some nights,” Rachael said, smiling, “that my ears would ring the next morning.”

  I shook my head and stared down at the plate of cookies. “Those poor creatures don’t know that their ancient home will soon be destroyed.”

  “Not destroyed,” Josef said. “Dismantled. There’s a difference.”

  “Countless species will be killed. I don’t know what you call that.”

  “Some death will occur,” Rachael said. “But the Geoengineers are making heroic efforts to save every documented species.”

  “Heroic?” I said. “Rachael, the cradle of humanity is being left to rot.”

  “I love Earth too, Dad,” Josef said, “but the air is poison. The soil is toxic. You spent your whole gaise life trying to clean it, and for what? So we could watch Mom die slowly from the Tox?” He paused and took a deep breath. “I want a better life for my kids, and your Earth can’t give that.”

  I put down my cup. “Since when did it become my Earth? Once, it was ours.”

  Esther loudly sipped her coffee, a sign she was not amused by the conversation.

  “Grandpa,” Rachael said, “it’s not just the toxins, it’s the overpopulation. We used up all the matter in the asteroid and Kuiper belts to make New Earth. We need Old Earth’s mantle to build more colonies. And besides, it’s natural.”

  “Natural?” I said as my belly grew hot.

  “Yes.” Rachael sat up straight and looked at her mother, as if she had been preparing this for weeks. “In living creatures, new cells are born from old ones, then the old cells die. But life continues. Your body’s cells have replicated themselves dozens of times. Old Earth isn’t ending, Grandpa, it’s rejuvenating. The old cell is giving birth to a new one. And when the old cell dies, its contents are broken up and recycled. That’s the course of life. The body of Old Earth will be gone, but its essence lives on.”

  I stared at my family, all of them willing to throw away the priceless Earth as if it were an obsolete piece of technology, and disagreed.

  ***

  Three days after Lin’s visit, I set my car down in central Albany. In a foggy rain, I wander past empty skyscrapers, drifts of windblown debris, and vac-sealed buildings, kicking up clouds of gray dust. On Livingston Avenue I meet a holdout who introduces herself as Helen. A sickly looking kitten walks at her heel.

  “Not many kids left,” Helen says, her voice muffled by a scratched ox-mask, “Green hair, techplant on her cheek, neh? Yeah, that’s Lin Bar-Martin. Yeoung’s kid. Hangs out with a bunch of liumangs. If I recall, her father Yeoung worked in nanotesting.”

  “A scientist?” I ask.

  “Ha! No, they tested nano on him.”

  “Oh. Where do they live?”

  “Nowhere.”

  “What do you mean? She’s homeless?”

  “As if. No, plenty of places to live here. She’s gone.”

  “Gone where?”

  “To Wal-Mart Toyota. An orbital.”

  “You mean, for good?”

  “Where’ve you been, baichi? No one comes back to Earth.”

  “What about her friends?” I hate myself that I can’t remember their names. “Are they still around?”

  “Haven’t seen a kid in days. The whole north side of the city shipped off to Wal-Mart Toyota. Heard the place is dreadful. They abandoned it mid-construction because they found better ways to build colonies using nano.”

  “But the kids were at my house three days ago!”

  “And they left two days ago. A fleet of ships took ’em away like it was a parade.”

  And then I know why the kids cycled all the way down to New Paltz over dangerous roads, and I know the look in Lin’s eyes when she was crying outside my door that night, the feeling that I’d missed something. That was Lin’s last day on Earth. The kids wanted to see a piece of ancient Earth before they left it forever.

  “Thank you,” I say to Helen.

  I pet the sick kitten, then I leave her empty city. By the time I arrive home, it’s getting dark. There’s a strange car in the driveway, and a young woman sits on my porch. For a moment, I think it’s Lin. But then I recognize my granddaughter’s dark hair.

  “Hi, Grandpa.”

  “Rach, what are you doing here?”

  “I came to say hi.”

  I hug her hello. “You came all the way here just to say ‘hi’? Why didn’t you call? I could have prepared dinner.”

  “It was kind of a last-minute thing.”

  “It’s great to see you! You look good, Rach.” The wicker chair creaks as I sit beside her. “How’s school?”

  “It’s tough, but otherwise xin.” We stare at the overgrown grass as a wind whispers through the trees. “The grounds look really healthy.”

  “I try.”

  “I remember when I used to sit on your lap and you’d tell me the silliest stories.”

  “I’d say come on over, but I think you’re too big for that now.”

  She smiles, but it quickly fades. “Grandpa, the NEU can spot a flea from orbit. There’s nowhere to hide.”

  “I don’t plan to hide. I plan to stay right here.”

  “They’ll force you out.”

  Beyond the trees, a troublesome spot on my stascreen wavers. “Maybe I won’t give them the chance.”

  “Grandpa . . .” She puts a warm hand on mine. “You and I disagree on a lot of things. Promise me that when the time comes, you won’t do anything stupid.”

  “Rachael . . .”

  “Promise me.”

  When I look at her I see the child she once was, the girl who married frogs and danced in fields of sunflowers. “I’m sorry,” I say, “but this isn’t your Earth. You don’t understand.”

  “Maybe I understand more than you.” She leaps to her feet. “Neh, I have to go.”

  “Already? You just got here.”

  “I have an exam in the morning.”

  She hugs me, squeezes a little too hard. “Goodbye, Grandpa. I love you.”

  And in seconds her lobber is flying up into the sky. I watch it recede until it’s just another star. Out back the frogs croak louder than I’ve ever heard them.

  ***

  I sit on the wet grass under the stars, hugging a bottle of rye. Yesterday, another hurricane blew through the area, a product of Earth’s new gravitational partner. A decade ago they would have burnt the storms away with their orbital lasers,
but Earth just isn’t worth it anymore. They didn’t even bother to give the hurricane a name.

  The storm washed away the dust, and the moon and New Earth lay hidden below the horizon. And in the dark, how beautiful is the sky! The stars are so bright they cast shadows, their points are so clear I feel I could pluck them like apples from the sky. Jupiter rises slowly in the east, bright as an angel. And the Milky Way swaths gloriously across the heavens. If I could leap into the sky, I’d fall into it forever.

  “Ashey,” I say to my cranial, “Play ‘Grandkids Visit, Summer ’98.’”

  A holo projects over my eyes. Little Rach sits on my knee, giggling. Birds chirp in the summer sun. The smell of roses. A soft breeze on my cheeks, all under the warm comfort of a well-functioning stascreen. “Can we sit under the sunflowers again?” a five-year-old Rach asks a much younger me.

  Sunlight trickles through fans of yellow petals as I follow her into my field of sunflowers. She sits on the ground beneath their giant blooms and says, “I want to live in your house, with you, Grandpa. I never want to go home.”

  I watch her draw a house in the dirt with a stick. “Like this one,” she says.

  “Ashey, play ‘Shoshanna’s 60th Birthday.’”

  Years earlier, Shosh opens the ancient oak door of our house. Everyone yells, “Surprise!” As my wife throws her hands to her mouth and shrieks, she drops a glass bowl. It shatters, and everyone chuckles nervously. A tear of happiness rolls down her sallow cheek. Even this far back she’s already showing signs of the Tox.

  I excelled at removing the worst pollutants from environments, but with all my knowledge I still couldn’t protect my wife’s body from them.

  “You devil,” she whispers to me, embarrassed. “I thought you had forgotten.”

  “Never,” I say.

  “Damn. That bowl was expensive.”

  “I’ll make it up to you.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  I lean in to kiss her, and I feel the press of her soft lips even after the recording ends.

  “Ashey, play ‘Josef’s first steps.’”

  Our same house, decades earlier. Shosh, younger, healthier, Tox unmanifest. Little Josef bravely climbs to his feet, takes two teetering strides, then falls. Shosh leaps to publish the holo on the net for all to admire. She struts pridefully over to me and smiles. “Kid learns fast. He’s already better at walking than you are.”