Science Fiction: The Best of the Year, 2007 Edition

by Rich Horton

  Well, she thought, two could play at that game.

  It was not to be a summer of days at the beach, or fishing trips, or baseball camp. Everyone was busy packing, sorting, and getting ready to move. Susan marshaled Nick and Ben into the attic and basement to do the easy part, the packing and stacking, but the hardest part of moving was all hers: making the decisions. What to take, what to leave. It was all a referendum on her life, sorting the parts worth saving from the rest. No object was just itself: it was all memories, encapsulated in grimy old toys, birthday cards, garden bulbs, and comforters. All the tiny, pointillist moments that together formed the picture of her life. Somehow, she had to separate her self from the place that had created her, to become a rootless thing.

  The summer was punctuated with sad ceremonies like the one when they started disinterring the bodies from the town cemetery, the day when the crane removed the Civil War soldier from the park, and the last church service before they took out the stained glass windows. After the dead had left, the town paradoxically seemed even more full of ghosts.

  The protests did not die down. Red Bluff was in a state of open rebellion; a hidden sniper had picked off three Wattesoon soldiers, and the army was starting house-to-house searches to disarm the populace. In Walker, angry meetings were televised, in which residents shouted and wept.

  In Okanoggan Falls, they negotiated. The Wattesoons were now paying to move three of the most significant historic buildings, and the school district would be kept intact after relocation. Captain Groton had even agreed to move the deadline two weeks into September so the farmers could harvest the crops—a concession the captains in Red Bluff and Walker were eventually forced to match, grudgingly.

  The captain became a familiar face around town—no longer in a limousine, but driving a rented SUV to supervise contractors, meet with civic groups, or simply to stop for lunch at Earl's Cafe and chat with the waitress. Outwardly, there was no longer a hint of anything Wattesoon about him, unless it was his awkwardness when asked to tie a knot or catch a baseball. He had turned into a tall, distinguished older man with silver hair, whose manners were as impeccable as his dress. In social settings he was reserved, but occasionally something would catch his whimsy, and then he had a light, tolerant laugh. At the same time, a steely authority lay just under the surface.

  The women of Okanoggan began to notice. They began to approach and engage him in conversation—urgently, awkwardly warm on their side, full of self-conscious laughter; and on his side, studiously attentive but maddeningly noncommittal. People began to talk about the fact that he went every week to dine at the Abernathy home, whether Tom was there or not. They noticed when Susan took him to the barber shop, and when they drove together to La Crosse to visit the mall. Her good humor began to irritate the other women in ways it never had before, and their eyes followed her when she passed by.

  "She must of kissed that frog good, ‘cause he sure turned into a prince,” said Jewell Hogan at the beauty salon, and the remark was considered so witty it was repeated all over town.

  For herself, Susan had found one more reason to love her life in Okanoggan Falls just before losing it. She was playing a game that gave her life an exotic twist, excitement it had lacked. It was her patriotic duty to lie awake each morning, thinking of ways to get closer to a thrillingly attractive, powerful man who clearly enjoyed her company and relied on her in some unusually intimate ways. In the last month before it all fell apart, her life had become nearly perfect.

  Between arranging to move his business and the mayoral duties, Tom was often gone on the nights when Captain Groton came over for dinner. Susan was aware of the gossip—a blushing Nick had told her the boys were taunting him about his mother—but she was not about to let small-mindedness stop her. “Just wait till they see how it pays off,” she said to Nick.

  It made her think she needed to start making it pay off.

  By now, Captain Groton was perforce conversant with the ceremonial foods of the Midwest—string bean casserole, jello salad, brats and beans—and the communal rituals at which they were consumed. So Susan had been entertaining herself by introducing him to more adventurous cuisine. His tastes were far less conservative than Tom's, and he almost invariably praised her efforts. On one night when Tom was returning late, she ordered a pizza for the boys and prepared shrimp with wild rice, cilantro, artichokes, and sour cream, with just a hint of cayenne pepper and lemon. They ate in the dining room with more wine than usual.

  The captain was telling her how the amateur scholar who ran the landfill, in one of the endless efforts to deter the Wattesoons from their plans, had tried to convince him that there was an important archaeological site with buried treasure underneath the town. He had even produced proof in the form of an old French map and a photo of a metallic object with a mysterious engraved design.

  Susan laughed, a little giddy from the wine. “You didn't fall for it, did you?"

  Captain Groton looked at her quizzically. “No, I didn't fall down."

  His English was so good she almost never encountered a phrase he didn't know. “It's an expression, to fall for something. It means he was pulling your leg."

  "Pulling my leg. And so I was supposed to fall down?"

  "No, no,” she said. “It's just an idiom. To fall for something is to be deceived. On the other hand, to fall for someone means to become fond of them, to fall in love."

  He considered this thoughtfully. “You use the same expression for being deceived and falling in love?"

  It had never struck her before. “I guess we do. Maybe it means that you have to have illusions to fall in love. There is a lot of self-deception involved. But a lot of truth as well."

  She suddenly became aware how seriously he was watching her, as if the topic had been much on his mind. When their eyes met, she felt a moment of spontaneous chemical reaction; then he looked away. “And when you say ‘Okanoggan Falls,” which do you mean, deception or love?” he asked.

  "Oh, love, no question."

  "But if it meant deception, you would not tell me,” he said with a slight smile.

  "I am not deceiving you, captain,” she said softly. And, a little to her own surprise, she was telling the truth.

  There was a moment of silence. Then Susan rose from the table, throwing her napkin down. “Let's go to the back yard,” she said.

  He followed her out into the hot summer night. It was late August; the surrounding yards were quiet except for the cicadas buzzing in the trees and the meditative sigh of air conditioners. When they reached the deeper grass under the trees, the captain came to a halt, breathing in the fragrant air.

  "The thing I was not expecting about being human is the skin,” he said. “It is so sensitive, so awake."

  "So you like it now, being human?” she asked.

  "There are compensations,” he said, watching her steadily.

  Her intellect told her she ought to be changing the subject, pressing him on the topic of public concern, but her private concerns were flooding her mind, making it impossible to think. She was slightly drunk, or she never would have said it aloud. “Damn! It's so unfair. Why does such a perfect man have to be an alien?"

  A human man would have taken it as an invitation. Captain Groton hesitated, then with great restraint took her hands chastely in his. “Susan,” he said, “There is something I need to explain, or I would be deceiving you.” He drew a breath to steady himself as she watched, puzzled at his self-consciousness. He went on, “It is not an accident, this shape I have assumed. On my planet, when a woman chooses a man, he becomes what she most wishes him to be. It is the function of the chameleon trait. We would have died out long ago without it.” He gave a slight smile. “I suppose nature realized that men can never be what women really want until they are created by women."

  Susan was struggling to take it in. “Created by...? But who created you?"

  "You did,” he said.

  "You mean—"

  "That fir
st day we met, when you touched me. It is why we avoid human contact. A touch by the right woman is enough to set off the reaction. After that, physiology takes over. Every time you touched me after that, it was biochemical feedback to perfect the process."

  All the misery and shock of an interspecies transformation, and she had done it to him? “Oh my God, you must hate me,” she said.

  "No. Not at all."

  Of course not. Her perfect man would never hate her. It would defeat the purpose.

  At that thought, she felt like a bird that had flown into a window pane. “You mean you are everything I want in a man?” she said.

  "Evidently."

  "I thought Tom was what I wanted,” she said faintly.

  "You already have him,” Captain Groton said. “You don't need another."

  She studied his face, custom-made for her, like a revelation of her own psyche. It was not a perfect face, not at all movie-star handsome, but worn with the traces of experience and sadness.

  "What about your personality?” she asked. “Did I create that, too?"

  He shook his head. “That is all mine."

  "But that's the best part,” she said.

  She couldn't see his face in the dim light, but his voice sounded deeply touched. “Thank you."

  They were acting like teenagers. They were like teenagers, in the power of an unfamiliar hormonal rush, an evolutionary imperative. The instant she realized it, it shocked her. She had never intended to cheat on Tom, not for a nanosecond. And yet, it was as if she already had, in her heart. She had fantasized a lover into being without even realizing it. He was the living proof of her infidelity of mind.

  Trying to be adult, she said, “This is very awkward, captain. What are we going to do?"

  "I don't know,” he said. “Perhaps—"

  Just then, the back porch light came on, and they jumped apart guiltily, as if caught doing what they were both trying to avoid thinking about.

  Tom was standing on the back porch, looking out at them. “You're back!” Susan called brightly, hoping her voice didn't sound as strained as she felt. She started up the lawn toward the house, leaving Captain Groton to follow. “Have you eaten?"

  "Yes,” Tom said. “I stopped at the Burger King in Walker."

  "Oh, poor dear. I was just about to make coffee. Want some?"

  "I am afraid I must be getting back to base,” Captain Groton said.

  "Won't you even stay for coffee?” Susan said.

  "No, it is later than I realized.” With a rueful laugh he added, “Now I understand why humans are always late."

  She went with him to the front door, leaving Tom in the kitchen. The captain hesitated on the steps. “Thank you, Susan,” he said, and she knew it wasn't for dinner.

  Softly, she said, “Your women are lucky, captain."

  Seriously, he said, “No, they're not."

  "Their lives may be brief, but I'll bet they're happy."

  "I hope you are right.” He left, hurrying as if to escape his memories.

  When Susan went back into the kitchen, Tom said with studied casualness, “Did you make any headway with him?"

  "No,” she said. “He's very dutiful.” She busied herself pouring coffee. When she handed him his cup, for the first time in their marriage she saw a trace of worry in his eyes. She set the cup down and put her arms around him. “Tom,” she said fiercely, “I love you so much."

  He said nothing, but held her desperately tight.

  And yet, that night as she lay awake listening to Tom's familiar breathing, questions crowded her mind.

  There was a hole in her life she had not even known was there. Now that she knew it, she could not ignore the ache. She had settled into a life of compromises, a life of good-enough. And it was no longer good enough.

  Yet there was no way for her to have more without hurting Tom. She didn't love him any less for the revelation that he wasn't perfect for her; he was human, after all. None of this was his fault.

  She looked at the lump of covers that was her husband, and thought of all she owed him for years of loyalty and trust. Somehow, she needed to turn from possibility and desire, and pass on by. She had to reconcile herself to what she had. It was simply her duty.

  * * * *

  The day of the move was planned down to the last detail, the way the Wattesoons did everything. Fleets of moving vans, hired from all over the region, would descend on Okanoggan Falls starting at six thirty A.M. After stopping at the Wattesoon base, they would roll into town at eight sharp and fan out to assigned locations. The schedule of times when each household would be moved had been published in the paper, posted in the stores, and hand-delivered to each doorstep. There was a website where everyone could find their own move time.

  The protesters were organized as well. The word had gone out that everyone was to gather at seven A.M. in the park opposite Town Hall. From there, they would march down Main Street to the spot where the highway ran between the bluff and the river, and block the route the trucks would have to take into town.

  When Susan and Tom pulled into the mayor's reserved parking spot behind Town Hall at six forty-five, it was clear the rally had drawn a crowd. The local police were directing traffic and enforcing parking rules, but not otherwise interfering. Lines of people carrying homemade signs, thermos bottles, and lawn chairs snaked toward the park, as if it were a holiday. Some activists Susan didn't recognize were trying to get a handheld PA system going.

  When Tom and Susan reached the front steps of Town Hall, Walt Nodaway, the Police Chief, saw them and came up. “We've got some professionals from out of town,” he said. “Probably drove in from Madison."

  "You have enough guys?” Tom asked.

  "As long as everyone stays peaceable."

  "The officers know not to interfere?"

  "Oh, yeah.” They had talked it over at length the night before.

  A reporter came up, someone from out of town. “Mayor Abernathy, are you here to support the protesters?” she asked.

  Tom said, “Everyone has a right to express their opinions. I support their right whether I agree with them or not."

  "But do you agree with the people resisting the relocation?"

  Susan had coached him not to say “No comment,” but she could tell he wanted to right now. “It's hard on people. They want to defend their homes. I know how they feel.” Susan squeezed his hand to encourage him.

  The city council members had begun to arrive, and they gathered on the steps around Tom, exchanging low-toned conversations and watching the crowd mill around. The protest was predictably late getting started; it was seven thirty before the loudspeaker shrieked to life and someone started to lead a chorus of “We Shall Not Be Moved.” People were starting to line up for the two-block march down to the highway when, from the opposite direction, a familiar black SUV came speeding around the police barricades and pulled up in front of Town Hall. A van that had been following it stopped on the edge of the park.

  Captain Groton got out, followed by three Wattesoon guards who looked even more lumpish than usual beside their lean commander. All were in sand-colored uniforms. The captain cast an eye over the park, where people had just started to realize that the opposition had arrived, and then he turned to mount the steps. When he came up to Tom he said in a low, commanding voice, “A word with you, Mayor Abernathy. Inside.” He turned to the city council members. “You too.” Then he continued up the steps to the door. The others followed.

  A few spectators were able to crowd inside before the Wattesoon guards closed the doors; Susan was one of them. She stood with the other onlookers at the back of the room as Captain Groton turned to the city officials.

  They had never seen him really angry before, and it was an unsettling sight. There was a cold intensity about him, a control pulled tight and singing. “I am obliged to hold all of you responsible for the behavior of those people outside,” he said. “They must return to their homes immediately and not interfere wi
th the operation in progress.” He turned to Tom. “I would prefer that the order come from you, Mayor."

  "I can't give them that order,” Tom said. “For one, I don't agree with it. For two, they're not going to obey it, regardless of what I say. I'm not their commander, just their mayor. They elected me, they can unelect me."

  "You have a police force at your disposal."

  "Just Walt and three officers. They can't act against the whole town. There must be four hundred people out there."

  "Well then, consider this,” Captain Groton said. “I do have a force at my disposal. Two hundred armed soldiers. Ten minutes ago, they started to surround the park outside. They are only waiting for my order to move in and start arresting noncompliants. We have a secure facility ready to receive prisoners. It is your decision, Mayor."

  Somehow, they had not expected such heavy-handed tactics. “There are children out there, and old people,” Tom protested. “You can't have soldiers rough them up. They're just expressing their views."

  "They have had three months to express their views. The time for that is over."

  "The time for that is never over,” Tom said.

  Their eyes met for a moment, clashing; then Captain Groton changed his tone. “I am at my wit's end,” he said. “You have known from the beginning what we were here for. I have never lied to you, or concealed anything. I have done everything in my power to make you content. I have compromised till my superiors are questioning my judgment. And still you defy me."

  "It's not you, Captain,” Tom said in a more conciliatory tone. “You've been very fair, and we're grateful. But this is about something bigger. It's about justice."

  "Justice!” Captain Groton gave a helpless gesture. “It is about fantasy, then. Something that never was, and never will be. Tell me this: Do you call the earthquake unjust, or march against the storm?"

  "Earthquakes and storms aren't responsible for their actions. They don't have hearts, or consciences."

  "Well, if it would help reconcile you, assume that we don't, either."