by Tom Upton
Just then, she started giggling. Maybe she was reading my mind again. I couldn’t tell for sure. Sometimes she would giggle that way for no apparent reason, and then would never confess what had started her giggling. Maybe she didn’t know herself. Who could tell? Then she stretched out her leg, and rested it on my shoulder. Her bare foot flipped back and forth in front of my face, and she was giggling harder than ever.
“Eliza, this is going to hard enough to do without trying to look through your foot.”
“I was just thinking,” she said, and paused. She paused in a way that made me believe that she was trying to make up something to say, so that she didn’t have to tell me what was really on her mind at the moment. It was strange; I was really certain this was true, but I couldn’t explain how I was so sure. “We’re like the little piggy,” she finally said, “the one that went weee weee weee all the way home.” And she wiggled her toes, and giggled insanely.
“Eliza, please!” I chided her. What’s going on here? I wondered. Suddenly I was in a Quentin Tarantino movie.
“Oh, what’s the matter,” she said, “don’t you love my feet. Are they stin-key? No. Are they ugly? No. Are they humongous? No. Actually they are quite petite, no? Sometimes I think they are so small, how do they support my weight? Why don’t I fall down more often?” Just then, she slipped off the edge of the sofa, and landed behind me, squeezed between my back and the front of the sofa. She started laughing now, loud and hysterical. She couldn’t stop laughing, though she was in obvious discomfort; her right leg still rested on my right shoulder, the back of her right thigh was flat against my back, her left leg was curled round so that her left foot rested in my lap, and her torso was squished back against the sofa so that her lungs had to labor for her to laugh. Still she never tried to extricate herself, just remained in that contorted position, content just to stay there and laugh her head off. For a moment, I seriously considered the possibility the artifact had been right; she really was insane. Maybe because I loved her, I hadn’t quite noticed how loopy she really was. And now she was laughing harder than ever, so hard in fact that she could scarcely breathe.
“I can’t take it,” she cried breathlessly. “I can’t take it. I can’t take it….”
“What the hell’s wrong with you?” I said. I tried to shove her leg off my shoulder, but she held it stubbornly in place. When I tried to stand, she reached up from behind and grabbed me round my neck. All of a sudden, I found myself in a wrestling match with her, and she was honest about what she had once told me: she was a lot stronger than she appeared. Finally, I started to lean over to the left, we both ended up lying on the floor, and it was a downright miracle that I didn’t break her left leg, what with the way it had been positioned.
“Eliza, snap out of it,” I told her.
She was now flat on the floor, and I was kneeling over her, and holding her wrists pinned to the cool tiles. She was still laughing, but now only half-heartedly. Then she stared up at me, suddenly serious.
“Travis,” she said with mock grimness, “I told you we can’t do this. My father’s standing behind you right now.”
I knew if I turned round, no one would be there and she would start laughing again.
“Yeah, right,” I said.
“No, really,” she insisted, and started to laugh uneasily.
“Travis?” It was Doc. He actually was behind me, of course. Although he didn’t sound mad or anything, my stomach dropped about a mile. I felt like a thief caught looking through someone’s wallet. I let go of Eliza’s wrist, and looked up. Doc was standing there wagging his head and pursing his lips in a way that I’d come to find very annoying.
Eliza pushed herself up and sat on the floor. She had her hand to her forehead as if she didn’t feel well.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Yeah, it’s nothing,” she said, and smiled through her discomfort.
“Don’t you think it’s about time to talk to the artifact,” Doc said. He was not in the mood for nonsense. I had the distinct impression he wanted everything ended, once and for all. Maybe he didn’t like what he’d seen, or didn’t like where things had been going between Eliza and me, and wanted that ended, too. It was hard to tell. I didn’t believe that the mere fact that Eliza and I had grown close-- he did not even suspect how close-- troubled him so much as the circumstances under which our friendship was flourishing. There was a time and a place for everything, and it was clear to see he didn’t believe the here and now was right for young love.
“Yeah, it’s about that time,” I said, and Eliza nervously chimed in her agreement.
I sat before the keyboard and typed:
Hello?
Hello, Travis.
It was the first time the artifact had called me by name. It felt strange. In one way, it felt even more so that the artifact was much more than a mere machine. In another way, I was very much like being addressed by a coffee pot.
I glanced up at Doc, who was standing over me like a stern schoolmarm, and he was frowning. Nothing would convince him that the artifact was anything more than a bucket of bolts, and the fact that the artifact was now addressing me in such a familiar way must have really irked him.
Have you finished building your communication matrix?
Yes. I wanted to be certain that anything I told you was being understood correctly. There is little margin for error.
Is it possible for us to go back where we belong?
Yes, it is possible for you.
And you?
It is impossible.
Why?
There is no possible scenario that allows me to return to my planet or builders.
Why?
Time can be peeled back only so far. Haven’t you read the formula?
I read it, but did not understand.
Is it because of that three percent brain issue?
Probably.
I see…. I will try to explain…. As I have said, time is like an onion. You can peel it back only so far. The more you peel it back, the smaller it becomes.
Which means what exactly?
You can go back into time only so far, and with increasing limitations as far as spatial coordinates. Everything that occurred to my home planet occurred too long ago. The furthest I can go back into time would be about 2200 of your years, and even then, I would be limited to an area of space very, very far away from my home planet. There is no way for me to return to a time early enough to warn my builders of the coming of the invaders. The past, beyond a certain point, is unreachable. This is what we recognize as history. We define history differently than humans; history, for us, is a time that has past and is no long reachable, while humans define history as simply a time that has past.
Then where will you go, if there is nowhere left to you?
I have conceived a practical plan that includes my disposition. First you, as pilot, must remain within this structure. The others must go outside. The part of this structure which is me-- you might call it the ‘projection’ or ‘shadow’-- must physically reintegrate with the actual ship, which is also me, which is stationary in space 1.43678 light-years away. Then you must pilot the ship back here; assume a brief orbit around earth-- high enough so that earth radar systems cannot detect it. At that time, I will peeled back time to a moment before your last attempt to make everything right, before I returned from that time, and you will physically disembark. For you it will not be a perfect return to the timeline; there may be a slight paradoxical effect-- nothing dramatic, but just minor inconsistencies. Mostly likely, what will occur will be what you might call ‘missing time.” It will not be the common meaning of that term, in which you cannot remember a short period of time, but rather those who are close to you will not know where you have been for a brief period of time…. Before you leave the ship, you will order me to land of the dark side of your moon-- this rather than the original order to return to my home planet. If I never return there, the invaders can never follow me back he
re. Earth will be safe, then. This is the most reasonable plan of action.
I don’t understand this part about you landing on the moon.
Since I have nowhere to go, and since I cannot stay here-- where I might be discovered again by humans, who are in no way prepared to possess my technology-- it seems both prudent and practical that I remain secreted in a place where humans will not find me for a very long time. Perhaps the next time I am discovered, humans will have reached a level of maturity to utilize my technology wisely. I, too, am comfortable with this disposition. In a short while, I have come to be fond of humans-- despite their obvious shortcomings, which, I believe, will not be permanent. Humans, really, are not very different from my builders at a basic emotional level. I look forward to the day when I will again be able to welcome and entertain their presence. It would appear that my contact with you has influenced me as much as I have influenced you. While on the moon, I will power down my systems, but I will still be cognizant. I will spend the time analyzing the effect you three have had on me. It seems as though I am growing beyond the scoop of my programming. I am developing what you might call ‘feelings.’ As outlandish as this may seem to you, I believe it to be accurate. I am quite fond of you, Travis. I am fond of Doc, too. I am even fond of Eliza, though I still believe there is something very wrong with her reasoning abilities. Travis, because you are to remain on the ship, you will be the only one of the three who will remember all that has happened. This will be difficult for you. Though it is against my better judgment, I wish to check in on you now and again. Even from the dark side of the moon, I will, at times, be able to intercept these signals, these wireless internet signals, and I will be able to communicate with you by what you call ‘instant messaging.’ I hope you will agree to speak with me in this manner. I will go for now. I will give you all some time; I understand the human need to say good-bye. When you are ready to leave, please let me know.
The screen went blank, then, and all of us, who had been reading-- each from his own angle-- remained silent.
I found myself unable to tear my eyes away from the blue background of the screen.
“It’s not fair,” I heard Eliza say, next to me. “Isn’t it going to be incredibly lonely there, on the dark side of the moon?”
“It is a machine.” Doc droned.
“Doc, how can you be so mean?” she asked.
“Well, you saw what it said. If it gets lonely it’ll get a hold of Travis.”
She shook her head, started to say something, and then decided it would be a waste of time.
“It’s being very logical,” I said. “It’s doing the only thing that it can do. It’s doing what it thinks is right.”
“It’s not fair, though,” Eliza complained.
“What’s fair to a machine?” Doc wanted to know. “Come on,” he said to Eliza them, “let’s go. Let’s have this whole thing done with.”
“We’re supposed to say good-bye,” Eliza said.
“All right. Bye, Travis,” he said curtly, and started for the front door, which he swung open, letting in a gust of cool air. She paused there, in the doorway, looking back at Eliza. “Well, let’s go.”
“Give me a minute, will you, Doc?” she said.
He snorted his disgust. “Make it quick,” he snapped, and then stepped outside, shutting the door beneath him.
“I think I’m just realizing I hate long good-byes,” I said.
“Oh, don’t be sad, Travis. Don’t ever be sad,” she said, and she was somewhat cheery, certainly more cheery than she ought to have been given the circumstances. She pushed herself up, and on her knees walked up to me. She gave me a hug, a very nice hug, not a loose one that would suggest she really didn’t care, not a tight, bone-breaking one that would suggest desperation. She whispered in my ear, then: “Always remember two things. First that I love you, and I always will. Second, that everything will be all right. And if you’re thinking I must know something you don’t, I do, and let’s leave it at that for now.”
I had to push her back gently, to search her face. Again, what she’d said was exactly what I’d been thinking.
“I should go now,” she said, and stood up. She looked down at me, and said, “Whatever happens now, be careful. Don’t get yourself maimed or anything. You may not believe it now, but it will still matter to me later. Oh, and one other thing,” she added in afterthought, “Do me a favor. When you return to your life-- the way it’s supposed to be, with you going to school and becoming the local sports hero and all-- don’t get all attached to some ditzy cheerleader, all right? Not just yet, understand? Give it at least a year, a full year-- not no nine months or eleven months and six days. Promise me that, all right?”
I promised.
Before she went through the door, I called her. She turned around. True to her word, again, she wasn’t shedding a tear. She looked at me, wondering, probably expecting to me say something remarkably pithy.
“Aren’t you going to put your shoes on before you go out? It’s cold out there, you know.”
She glanced down at her bare feet. “If I’m right, I’m not going to be out there long.” She smiled, and then she was gone, gone forever.
***********
I stood alone in the living room that really wasn’t a living room but part of an alien ship. I didn’t have the heart to laugh at the absurdity of my situation. All I’d wanted was to check out some girl. Well, I’d done just that-- checked her out, got to know her, fell in love with her, and then lost her, forever-- if forever even had any meaning in a universe where time travel is possible. In the end, no one would ever know about it all but me, and I supposed that was enough.
No sooner had she shut the door behind her, I had the achy urge to run after her. It took just about every iota of self-control I could muster to let her go. I wasn’t sure whether fate was a real thing or just something that someone made up so that everyone could explain all the weird things that occur during life. I hoped it was real, though, because then I, too, could rest assured that one day I would see her again-- even if it did take a series of bizarre and inexplicable events to bring us back together. I wished I could believe, but I had my doubts.
I knelt on the floor in front of the computer monitor. I told myself it would all hurt less if I did what had to be done quickly. I knew, in the back of my mind, that I was deluding myself; I would always remember, so how could leaving fast lessen the pain-- leaving was still leaving.
I typed on the keyboard.
Hello?
Are you ready?
Yes.
You have said good-bye, then?
Yes.
Yes?
Yes.
Yes and no would be a more accurate answer.
I don’t understand.
Aloha.
Yes?
Hawaiian is a lovely language, not only in its sound but also in its sentiment. ‘Aloha’ means both hello and good-bye. It is the way my designers viewed life, too. After time travel was developed, they realized there was no longer any such thing as good-bye. Where once they saw life as a straight finite line, then they saw life for what it actually was: a circle, with no beginnings and no endings, encompassing an area that cannot escape its boundaries. With life as such, an infinite number of possibilities exist. Definite thinking, like the idea of ‘good-bye’-- persons parting forever-- no longer stood up under the reasoning of the newly discovered knowledge.
I don’t think I understand.
Not the words, perhaps, but the reality of life will eventually make itself apparent.
Are we leaving, now?
Yes-- and no.
My head ached as I tried to comprehend its meaning. Maybe I really was as dumb as I had always believed myself. I really didn’t care to understand the meaning of existence, anyway. All I wanted at the moment was to finish. I imagined the way I felt was much the way someone feels before they commit suicide. There is comfort and relieve at the thought that soon everything will be ove
r, and with that thought comes a sad sort of joy.
The artifact shot instructions across the screen, and I rose to my feet and went to the console. I pressed the buttons in the right order, and then, without hesitation, hit the execute button. Everything around me vibrated slightly, and there was the low steady hum remindful of a fly that was making a nuisance of itself. There was the sound like duct tape being ripped from a smooth surface. Then everything was still and silent. I looked around in confusion. Nothing seemed to have changed. I was sure that something, again, had gone wrong, and dread filled me as I moved back to check the computer monitor, which read:
Phase one complete.
It was followed by further instructions.
I could hardly believe it-- it really seemed that nothing had actually happened. I returned to the console, and punched in the buttons that made the living room vanish to be replaced by the cavernous space that it was in reality. I pressed the buttons that created the viewing screen on the high wall to see what was outside. Where once had appeared a view of the houses across the street, now there was nothing but dark space and stars. It was the same star field I had seen days ago, only this time I was not seeing it remotely; I was actually on the ship that had been hovering motionlessly in space for fifteen thousand years. The projection of the ship and the actual ship had again, at long last, become reintegrated. It ought to have been a pretty heady moment for me-- what with becoming the first human to reach so far into space-- but really, it didn’t seem so special somehow. Maybe if Eliza had been there with me, I could have been enthusiastic. I realized, with horror, that if such a thrilling and monumental experience as this was going to be ho-hum without her, what would it be like when I finally return to my old, truly boring, life? Lifting weights would never again seem exciting or even vaguely interesting-- that was for sure.
