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When Time Should Have Stood Still, a Sci-Fi Short
When Time Should Have Stood Still, A Sci-Fi Story by Tamara Wilhite
“How did you get this shelter past the planners?” Lee asked Kenyon.
Kenyon grinned, a beer in each hand, looking as if he had been eagerly waiting for someone to ask that question. “Just put in the request after a nearby terrorist attack, and they’ll consider it. Had my panicked, dementia-at-risk Mom put in the request so they’d think it was panicked reaction. I signed the payment order, so they approved it without bothering to ask her details. When she bothered to ask what went on, I said we were putting in a tornado shelter or fixing the leaks in the basement.” He grinned at his own cleverness.
“Expensive way to settle down an old lady,” Joel remarked. He sat down by Kim and wrapped an arm around her, noticing that she’d winced at Kenyon’s remark.
“The permit was a hefty fee. The installation took some construction work, so it was billable work for local income taxes. No, no problem.”
“It’s spacious,” Lee said, slowly taking in the details of the shelter.
“Are all the cell phones off and outside?” Kenyon asked. Everyone assented but Kim, who shook her head.
“What about my pager?” Joel asked.
Kenyon laughed, "Isn't that old tech?"
Joel shrugged. "Smart devices tend to get hacked, violate privacy, and so forth, so we're back to low tech, at least to notify me that I need to come in to work or check my messages on a smart device."
“No electronic devices inside of any type. I want to demo something,” Kenyon replied. “None.”
“I’m a medic, Ken, and I get paid for being on call. I can’t just dump it.”
“You said it’s your day off, Joel. Don’t you get a real day off? Do you ever stop working, being on call?” Kenyon challenged. Joel pulled out the smart-pager and reluctantly handed it over. Kenyon opened up the hatch and tossed it on the grass along with the other PDAs, smart phones and Kim’s dumb phone. He couldn't understand how they had become status symbols, carrying electronic antiques that belonged in a museum. Then he closed the hatch. “Now for the big show.” Kenyon walked past the two bunk beds and two week supply kit and air filters.
“That’s the equipment side,” Lee remarked. “You asked me lots of questions to put in that yourself.”
“Well, it’s a little more complicated than that.”
“If you lock us in here without cell phones to call for help, I will beat you up,” Lee said. “And for every hour it takes to cut us out, I will add to the pain.”
“You can’t do that,” Kenyon commented.
“Yes, I can. We got Mr. Genius Doctor here.”
Joel became oddly self-conscious. “I’m a medic, not a doctor.”
“Dude, you are a legally usable med-tech in pharmacy, physical therapy, nursing, surgery … anything I’m missing?”
Kim added, “Psychology. He also passed psychology.”
“And your skill set, I believe, is lab work?” Kenyon asked Kim.
“That’s why I needed Joel. He’s the all around medical guru. Kim, you can make meds for anything from anything, based on your resume. And you’re with Joel, who’s a good friend of mine.” Kenyon turned to Lee. “Lee, you’ve got tech ratings on everything from computers to hardware to HVAC.”
“So show me your surprise, Ken,” Lee demanded, “before I push past you to check the air supply before you use it up lecturing me.”
Kenyon sighed. Then he opened the equipment panel that was at least two meters wide. With an old mechanical button and a lever, a meter wide door opened. “Here’s stage two.”
“Stage two?” Kim asked.
“My grandfather’s parents built the house not long after World War 2. Scares of nuclear bombs and such. They built a high end shelter. My grandmother’s family re-did it with more comforts and longer lasting food supplies around 2000 or 2012, I can’t remember which end of the world hysteria around the turn of the millennium. Mom never did much with it. I spent a lot of time down here with her Dad.”
“I thought the radioactivity from the dirty bomb Jihad was before you were born,” Joel stated.
“It was. But Dad – well, Granddad, really,” Kenyon corrected, “He always did preparedness.”
“How did you get this place past the inspector?” Lee asked.
“The entrance foyer of this was always here. I showed it briefly while saying I needed to upgrade it a lot for habitability, safety and such. And it was easy to get that through a bureaucrat’s head when it is someone old enough to remember the Jihad wars. So that wasn’t bad. It was the budget for building the official shelter while refurbishing the old one that got tough.”
“What did your Mom say?” Kim asked.
“Dementia got formally diagnosed half-way through the project.” Joel and Kim both winced. “And since she was younger than average, her quality of life score was too low for the board.”
“I don’t get it,” Lee remarked.
Kim answered. “If you’re old with dementia, you can get months or even years of care - if you can afford it. Otherwise, it’s euthanasia. Young with dementia, you’re reasonably healthy - and are a hassle to take care of. Quality of life score is lower. So it’s euthanasia once the diagnosis is confirmed.”
“That’s one hell of a way to keep a secret,” Lee said quietly.
“I didn’t off her, Lee. I didn’t want her dead. I wanted her alive longer, so I could learn more about this stuff.”
“Learn more? How do you not know much?” Lee asked.
“I know a lot, but it’s from when I was a kid. I wanted her alive to ask a lot more.”
“She had dementia,” Lee challenged.
“Dementia takes recent memories and interferes with formation of new ones,” Kim corrected. “Her memories of her early life would have been unaffected for years.”
“I thought you did drug manufacturing,” Lee challenged her.
“I met Joel on some … psychology related work.”
“Oh,” Lee said in a non-committal tone.
“Lee, go get a beer.” Lee started for the hatch. “No, I want the door closed so that no accidental GPS or radar map gets a reading of this place. I want them to just see the main shelter. Don’t open the main door to outside while this one is open.”
Joel held up his hand. “Why don’t they know about the older shelter? Especially if the newer one is registered?”
“Old records lost. New one looks like equipment fills in the old space. And with all the concrete in its walls and the steel shielding, it could easily pass for equipment. Do you want to see real retro?” Kenyon held out his arm in a theatrical flourish. “Here’s to the greatest in the latest of old fashioned safety.”
Lee delayed long enough to jog a few steps to grab the six pack of beer he had brought down. Then Kim, Lee, and Joel walked into the older section. Kenyon closed the door. “It’s actually better to have the new shelter there for other reasons. It adds extra shielding. It provides more air filtration and quality recycling if the two sections are open.”
“If there’s a zombie attack, you can close off the outer area and stay well hidden in the inner one,” Joel remarked. He laughed a little at the comment.
Kenyon grinned. “I knew you had a sense of humor in that genetically enhanced all-too-perfect exterior.”
Lee blinked a few times. “You’re gen-gineered?” he ogled.
“Yes,” Joel said, a level tone from much practice in addition to his innately calm and boring personality. “How did you think I did so exceedingly well on all my exams?”
“Uh, Jewish and doctor seemed a likely combination.”
“Yeah,” Joel admitted. “There’s Jewish in there. That’s why they did the genetic healing.”
“So you’re smarts are natural?” Lee asked.
“Since they could only afford one kid fixed, I can’t say they didn’t add in a few extras,” Joel admitted.
Lee flicked his eyes over to Kim. “I hope this doesn’t break you two up,” he said.
“I already knew,” Kim answered.
“Oh, good, no freak-outs,” Kenyon remarked. “And here I was just worried about claustrophobia. Uh, Kim, how are you on that?”
“Claustrophobia isn’t my problem,” Kim said.
Kenyon started to run down different technical specifications of the shelter. Air and water for a few days until recycling became necessary. Food for weeks. Power for that long from geothermal equipment installed under a green energy grant, along with thermal regulation from that same line to the house. As he rattled on, Lee became bored. “Open the door,” Lee demanded.
“I need another beer.”
“What for?” Kenyon demanded. “I’m still talking.”
“Fine. I’m claustrophobic.”
“You never said that before.”
“I’m saying it now.”
“How does a beer help that?”
“Beer’s the cure for my claustrophobia. Now open the door.”
Kenyon relented and started toward the controls to the outer room. A bright radiant light then swept across the port hole to the outer chamber.
“Damn, what’s with the special effects?” Lee screamed.
Joel whistled softly. “You could have put that in earlier in the lecture and reduced the boredom factor.”
Kenyon whispered, “I didn’t do that.”
Kim got an odd look on her face. “Is it a scan?”
“Uh, GPS scans and deep Earth radar don’t make light,” Kenyon answered. “What do you think it is?” he asked her.
“I got an odd interference,” Kim said.
“Interference?” Kenyon asked. “From what?”
Kim blinked a few times against an internal confusion. Joel answered, “Mood regulator. Pre-schizophrenia screening requirement. Gives off beta or theta wave bursts through electrodes to the brain, as needed.”
“She’s crazy?” Kenyon nearly shrieked.
“No. There was just a verifiable risk factor. The implant was mandatory. If they truly thought she was crazy, they would have done a surgery cure that left her a harmless drudge or mandated euthanasia. And she wouldn’t be working in medical manufacturing.”
“Damn it, I said no high end electronics!”
“It’s cyber. And it’s medical.”
“And there’s a freaking tracking device in it if it goes off too much or if she goes too far!” Kenyon’s fists were tight to his sides.
“Kim, is that true?” Joel asked gently.
“Yes, I have an implant,” Kim said.
“Not the brain wave manager. Is there a tracking device?” Joel asked.
“I don’t remember that detail of the specification.” Her voice was mechanical.
Kenyon sat down. “How long?” he asked.
“She was diagnosed before 20. I guess in the past year.”
“How long before the trackers find her?” Kenyon asked.
“Scans for missing people don’t make light like that,” Lee asked. “Locating fugitives and missing people are all innocuous – doesn’t even make local GPS flicker on personal devices. It’s almost silent.”
“So what was the light?” Kenyon asked.
Lee shook his head. “I don’t know if you don’t know.”
“Can she tell if the tracking device is working?” Kenyon asked Joel.
“Even if it went off when she was sealed in this shelter, the scan for it would have been nearly invisible to us. Or we would have heard a social worker banging on the door. Nothing so … weird,” Joel answered.
Kenyon sighed, resigned to the loss of the secret he’d made. He opened the door to the outer shelter. “Lee, go get your beer.” He let Lee stagger out, half blind from looking directly through the porthole.
Kenyon then closed the door to talk to Joel. “Damn, if Kim costs me this shelter, I’m going to be pissed,” he said.
“Please don’t blame me,” Kim said. “You’re the one trying to hide from the law. I wanted to live within it. I wouldn’t be allowed to live, otherwise.”
Joel shrugged. “She’s right.”
Kenyon slammed a fist into a wall. It reverberated with a dull thud. “If there was another war, I knew I’d want you with me … I thought maybe she’d be a good addition but wanted to know –“
Another wave of light started on one side of the outer shelter, casting a radiating secondary glow through the port-hole. Those inside covered their eyes. Lee began shrieking in ever growing octaves and volume.
The light subsided a minute after the bright light finished passing the other side of the shelter. Kenyon rushed to the port-hole. Joel tried to follow him in an effort to help Lee. Kenyon wouldn’t open the door. He wouldn’t even move to allow Joel to open the door. Joel became increasingly irate before screaming, “Open it up! Move and get out of my way! He needs help!”
“He needs a doctor or way more than that,” Kenyon said in a flat voice.
Kim asked in a more personable tone, “Do you have an emotional regulator, too?”
“OK, I’m a doctor! Let me help him! Will that let you let me help him?” Joel begged.
Kenyon deliberated. “I thought you couldn’t get riled up.”
“He was screaming in agony! I’d have to be inhuman not to care.”
“You’re just gen-gineered,” Kenyon challenged.
“Yeah. Just. So just get out of the way so I can help! Just like you said you wanted me around to help,” Joel added.
Kenyon opened the door. Joel rushed through without looking. Then he stopped dead. The sight of Lee’s body was disconcerting to both men. The smell of the burned flesh made both of them ill. Joel tried to process it all. His mind became a distant and confused expression, not far from Kim’s prior cybernetic activation. Then instinct took over and he retched. His illness was still under a medic’s mental control; he vomited in a blanked on a bed, not the body.
Lee let out a piteous moan. Joel’s brain tried to process the information. Kenyon could only stare at it, his mind unwilling to comprehend what may have happened. Of all the weapons he had studied, none could cause that degree of tissue burns underground and inside a shelter. If he had not been in the inner shelter, he would be the burnt to a crisp form there on the floor. The Jihadi Wars were officially over, but that didn’t mean a new strike couldn’t happen. But wouldn’t that have to have been right on top of them?
Another corner of his mind wondered what radiation level they were now exposed to. Seizing for any kind of information, he walked over to the antique Geiger counter. The radiation level was nominal, not much above modern background level.
Kim asked, “What kind of sensing device is that?”
“What for?” she asked.
She sounded almost normal. Almost like she previously had. Kenyon wondered about her sanity. “I though there was a radiation spike.”
“Like another suitcase nuke?” she asked. The fear was palatable on her face. And the device started to kick in. He could see the changes in her expression and especially the eyes. Anything that would make her panic or go crazy could set off the controlling device. At best, she’d be rendered unconscious and only use up air. At worst, she’d do something crazy in the name of artificial sanity – by a government that was crazily dictatorial in the name of managing the chaos.
“I don’t know what’s going on,” Kenyon admitted. “I want to check levels, just to be safe. Do you want to be safe?” he asked.
“Yes” was the immediate answer. Echoes of her and the machine were both present.
“Stay here, stay there, while I check things out,” he ordered her.
“Where’s Joel?” she asked. That was the girl, her alone.
“He’s taking care of Lee.”
“What? Who?” Kim asked. It wasn’t quite registering. Did the device interfere with her memory? She’d been introduced.
“Lee got burned. Joel is taking care of him. Please, stay here,” Kenyon insisted.
“Never interfere with a doctor taking care of a patient,” she said. All machine tones. Was this what drudges were like? People-machines, working diligently at stuff normal people didn’t want to do? Then how the job making drugs? Drudging around in mucky, boring labs? Or high-tech gleaming stuff that only super-smart people did, thus getting the chance for an implant instead of a final sleep and on to the final recycling of organ harvesting?
“Yeah. Stay here.”
“Joel will come back for me,” she said. Partly her, partly machine-made.
“Yeah, once he’s done.”
The girl got a damned idea. “Shall I call for help?” Kenyon paused, thinking of what may have happened to their devices outside the main shelter. “Or has that already been done?” she asked.
“Oh, everybody knows. But he’s really hurt. He needs Joel now.” Kenyon took two steps back and through the port. After a pause, he closed the door. It wasn’t really made to lock someone in, but he blocked the door handle on the outer shelter side enough to keep her from wandering out. There was too much uncertainty to risk her going outside for a cell phone.
Joel was kneeling beside Lee. Lee was still alive, Kharma and Nirvana knew how, wheezing a horrid sound. Joel had a hazmat bag around his vomit. He had medical gloves on. He had a modern med-kit opened and primed. And he did nothing. His face had a disconcerting and distant, almost alien look, as his lips silent moved.
“Joel, don’t tell me you have an implant, too?” Kenyon muttered.
“I’m praying,” Joel answered.
“Scan says the damage is to his inner organs. I could have him on an ER table with a surgical team and they’d do nothing. Maybe not even euthanasia because he’s so close.”
“How about mercy!” Kenyon screamed.
“I’m praying! Isn’t that merciful enough?”
“Painkiller!” Kenyon belted even louder. He turned away from Joel at the impulse to pound his only doctor. Kim had stood up at the screaming. She saw the dying corpse on the floor through the port-hole. Then he watched her fall back. Sitting down or fainting he couldn’t tell. He couldn’t care. Kenyon turned his attention back to his friend. “Painkiller, doctor, medic, only guy who knows where his veins are! Help him!”
Something in Joel’s mind switched from mechanical recitation from memory to troubled professional. He reached for this and that and combined them before injecting it into Lee’s body. The wheezing stopped.
“Now what should I do?” Joel asked him.
“I don’t know. I don’t even know what I should do.”
“Haz-mat for the biohazard,” Joel said.
“I can’t exactly bury him,” Kenyon replied.
“No, worry about the living, not the dead. Get the air filtration rate up so we can all breathe,” Joel answered.
Kenyon felt his fists go tight, eager to hit the man again. Then a voice in his head not unlike his barely remember grandfather rattled off a lot of sayings. Air for three minutes, water for three days, food for three weeks. They’d need air. Air without stink of burned flesh. Radioactive air, maybe, even. Kenyon marched to the mechanical controls and manipulated the air flow until a sharp flow sucked out a lot of the stench.
After Kenyon felt like doing anything again, he turned down the air controls to not use up all their power and air filtration capacity. Joel could be heard praying. Kenyon turned around with his fists balled up again, but he saw Lee wrapped in a blanket. Joel had actually done something in the interim. Maybe for the better, too, so that Kim couldn’t see the body.
“Joel?” Kenyon asked.
“What is it?” Joel answered.
“What the hell happened to him?” Kenyon asked.
“I do not know,” Joel answered.
“Gimme a best guess,” Kenyon asked.
“Partial molecular degeneration of outer tissue layers at the area receiving direct exposure. Deep tissue burns all the way through. However, the floor and all equipment appears … functional.”
“Gamma radiation?” Kenyon asked.
“Do you have a radiation detector?” Joel asked.
“The radiation levels are all about normal.”
“What did you use?” Joel asked. Kenyon showed him the device. Both men, interested in the old device, talked limited shop on radiation detectors and radiation damage. It was the kind of talk Kenyon had wanted to have with Joel all along, along with a talk on biowarfare methods and strains. Joel then asked, “Do you have a more modern detector? This might be a radiation kind you can’t sense with that.”
“Logical,” Kenyon said. “But I don’t have anything higher-tech than this except in the house.”
“Get it,” Joel said.
“I can’t. If the radiation was that bad in here, what’s it like on the surface?”
They both hesitated. Joel then asked, “Where’s Kim?”
“Where?” Joel demanded.
“In the inner shelter.”
Joel rushed to the door. He became furious at the blockade attempt. “What’s this for?”
“She was going weird at the radiation! How weird would she get with Lee burned to a crisp – and you, Mr. engineered to calm perfection, threw up! What happens to Miss crazy enough to need a sanity implant?”
Joel was torn between pissed off at the insults to relief that Kim was safe. Kenyon wondered if he berated himself, too, for not thinking of her while they had debated radiation monitoring and effects for at least ten minutes. Kenyon opened the door for his friend. Once the genetically engineered man was inside, Kenyon blockaded it again. He needed privacy, and this was the best he could do.
Joel heard the locking mechanism or jamming attempt. That didn’t matter to him. Nothing mattered except Kim’s unconscious form on the floor. He kneeled down beside her. An image of Lee’s charred corpse flashed before his eyes before it was suppressed. He had to admit that Kenyon was right. The engineered mood balancing he had been born with was not far from Kim’s mood management implant. His mental system was biological and yet flawed. Her biology was flawed while the mechanical implant was closer to ideal. They were an odd match. They were attracted to like-personalities that were nearly opposite in cause.
He picked her up and cradled her. His mind couldn’t process all the possibilities of what it might be both inside and outside. Left with nothing else, he recited prayers memorized from a far too early age. Repeating them verbatim as a young child had garnered him praise from many generations of his family, even as his recitation of medical texts before the board had garnered him perfect grades. Only his parents’ decision stood in the way of the high end medical career he had dreamed of, they had all expected of him. He was too close to perfect in too many ways.
Yet the rare seizures that extremely odd situations his mind could not digest, as happened in inner city ERs with drug addled people turning crazy during his internship, cost him that dream. He could only be a secondary helper now. His dream of saving so many lives and earning adulation and respect of everyone was lost forever. He could only be doing dreary heart attack resuscitations until someone came by with a transport to the life-saving ward or euthanasia drugs. He could wander around hospitals in the longer term patient management, tending to bed sores and lacerations as they waited to improve enough for advanced treatment or deterioration to the point of death. He’d seen Kim around, concocting all the specialized regimens for patients between life and death, sustaining them even as he sustained them. Her dispassionate and efficient manner reminded him of how he should be. And unlike him, she didn’t have the mark in her record of “genetically engineered” or other genetic undesirables. It was only later that he learned of the implanted device. But by then, it didn’t matter. They were two of a class of people in which there were too few. And now they were alone.
Her eyes fluttered awake. “Where are we?” she asked.
“There was a smell,” she said.
“Burn victim.” Her face wrinkled. “Taken care of,” Joel added.
“Did you get help?” she asked.
“He was beyond it,” Joel said.
“Am I hurt?” she asked.
“You fell,” Joel replied. Simple answers would be best, he realized.
“Did you get help?” she asked.
“I am the help,” Joe answered.
“You aren’t allowed to practice medicine by yourself,” she answered mechanically.
“I can’t get other help right now,” Joel said.
“Why not?” Kim asked.
“We’re locked in a War shelter,” Joel answered. Her face grew confused as she tried to process the information. “I’ll get qualified help when we get out.”
“Call for help,” she answered.
“We left the phones outside, remember?” he said.
“That’s crazy,” she remarked off-handedly.
“Yes, it is.”
“Where’s everyone?” she asked. It might have been a habitual question or actual memory of when there were four present here.
“We’re the only ones in here right now.”
“I thought I heard something,” she said.
“Kenyon and I had a fight. He locked me in here with you.”
“That’s crazy,” she answered. Joel couldn’t think of anything to say. “He’s crazy.” Joel intentionally remained silent this time. He could believe the war hypothesis, a new radiation weapon that could burn people to death even inside shelters. Whatever had happened, Kenyon’s paranoia had been correct on at least this issue. The timing, he thought, was divinely inspired. Or a very astute man’s analysis of political events. Either way, Kenyon had to be respected for bringing them to the safety today.
Joel said, “I’ll try to talk him into letting us out.” He needed out if only to get the modern medical kit sitting on the floor by Lee’s body in order to help Kim. As he removed Kim from his lap, there was a loud rumbling around them. Kim squealed and curled up. Joel tried to get to his feet as the shelter actually seemed to move. The door moved, too. He saw through the port long enough to see Kenyon desperately trying to remove the barricade and then open the lock, trying to get in. Things shifted again, and Joel followed Kim’s example of the earthquake drill they had all practiced as children. The world stopped moving.
Joel waited ten breaths before moving. Kim remained still and curled in the safety position. “Kim, are you all-right?”
“Is the quake over?” she asked in a normal voice.
“I don’t know.”
“What’s the risk of after-shocks?” she asked.
“Check your pager for news.” He sighed, resigned to the fact that her short term memory must be impeded from all the mood modulation attempts from the implant. She got up and went for the door. “How do I open this?”
“I don’t know. I think it’s blocked,” Joel replied. “I’d have to ask Kenyon to open it.” Joel felt a tight lump in his throat. If Kenyon were roasted on the floor, what would happen to Kim now?
“Who?” Kim asked.
“He was on the other side of the door,” Joel said as he scrambled up.
“There’s no one there,” Kim said. Joel pushed her aside for a view. There was indeed no one visible. But that didn’t preclude a body slumped on the floor below view. Joel saw only a dim white light in the outer shelter this time. He thought he saw cracks in the door to outside but dared not look directly at those cracks of light in case of blindness. Kim figured out the mechanism. And it opened for her. She stepped into the outer shelter.
The air filtration was whining as it strained to work. There was no longer a wrapped body where Joel had left it, only a black stain. Kenyon, too, was gone. A dust-devil of black particles in the chemical shower, up and around the curtains, may have been him. Joel couldn’t bring himself to touch anything. Kim saw the medical kit strewn across the floor. “What’s that?” she asked.
“It’s the medical kit I wanted to get for you,” Joel admitted.
“Was I hurt?” she asked.
“Your mood modulator has gone off several times,” Joel said in as even a tone as he could manage.
“Why?” she asked. She was troubled but starting to become detached emotionally.
He stepped toward her and seized her shoulders. He’d seen two people be vaporized or somehow otherwise destroyed. If he did not tell her what he thought he might be feeling, he might never another chance to utter the words and mean them. “Kim, I love you.”
Her expression became dangerously distant. “Oh, Gods, I’m going crazy!” she cried.
“Kim, it might be the end of the world. I just have to say it, that I love you.” The stabilizer went into full blast. Her body seized and then went limp. He pulled her to him and wrapped himself around her. He knew that any tracking device inside of her was now broadcasting at full strength. He held her tightly, wishing that she might remember what he’d said.
He felt dry and hoarse from the smoke and ash. He wondered about the quality of the supplies they had. He felt what might have been bitter irony that they might be the last people on Earth. He was sterilized once his genetic perfection was proven unacceptable. She’d been sterilized once diagnosed. If they were a new Adam and Eve, it was a cruel twist of fate that they could never have children, even if they lived many years more.
The roaring and ripping of the world came moments later. The shelter ceased to be. He held her as they were lifted up into a white and smoky sky. Joel told himself he didn’t care. Rote instruction driven to instinct made him recite Hebrew words that were meant to be solace. But the scientist within him did not cease to observe, even as time stood still.
Kim’s body floated in a crystal sphere. Time for her slowed or sped up even as it did for Joel. His only measure was the flow of the aliens, whether they moved at lightning speed or comically slow. So did Kim. He tried to watch her form, as they were both rotated about in all directions for inspection.
They kept her in a slower pace of time than him, as her body contorted. He could see the spittle and foam as she seized more violently. The radiation of the aliens had interfered with the implant somehow, he surmised, and her implant was now inside an alien ship at a level that even Joel could feel causing tissue damage.
There were times as he was rotated that he saw other lit spheres. People in a few, animals in others. A dolphin trying to swim. A squid squirting away. If her eyes registered anything, the insanity of it would trigger a full on blast of “sanity” control again. He wished he had that blurring veil, of either unconsciousness or blurred perception. It would have hurt less.
They didn’t poke him and prod him. They didn’t have to, scanning him constantly at a molecular level. Their scans were of a radiation type that destroyed Earth life. He could see that as animals were scanned and burned layer by layer to death. Watching a squid shoot ink and then see it freeze in place had been fascinating while literally upside-down and sideways in the air. Then its skin was gone, then its muscles, and then gray and black goo. A final flare, and then it was all gone. Cleanly vaporized. Then darkness. It was almost funny to see aliens manipulate time as easily as people manipulated electricity. But aliens that could travel across the universe could either manipulate time or space or both. Maybe they travelled slower than light but could stop time for themselves, thus aging seconds for a million year trip. Joel badly wished to ask Kenyon for other ideas. Yet when his mind flickered with images of the black dust in the shelter, an odd wavering of his own mental processes made him wonder if he, too, had an implant. It would have been funny if Kim had been aware and volunteered for her implant while he had received one unknowingly while getting the vasectomy. If it interfered with his mental processes, how was he to know?
His own body was damaged more slowly by the periodic scans. Maybe they’d already dissected Kenyon this way and thus felt less need to do it to him. Or their scans were less damaging than molecular disintegration of humans now, so he was only micro-waved slowly to death.
Each scan was a sweeping ache. The pain was watching as each glowing sphere went dark. The room went from a lit up cityscape to a Christmas tree to a distant few street lamps in the dark. With each light gone out, Joel knew a literal light went out. He tried to say prayers but felt air thin.
Time sped up for him suddenly. The aliens seemed to be moving very slowly now. Kim’s body, however, was nearly paused. The motions of her body were at a near standstill. Then the motions stopped. Had they slowed her so much that he might age to death while she was suspended in immortality? Then he saw them move her body in rotation. Her hair flowed to a kind of odd gravity. No, not time stopped. Nothing but her hair moved. Kim had stopped moving. No lung movement. No other signs, either.
He watched the small spheres at the edge of the bubble she was in begin to glow. He tried to protest. The air was thinner still, but he labored to scream denials anyway. The aliens slowed time. Her face was aglow, as bright and beautiful as an angel might. And then he watched her body incinerate in painfully slow detail. They scanned him repeatedly, monitoring his reaction. It was absolute agony. When the dust was all that was left, they collapsed the bubble into nothingness. A brief portal opened and the spheres fell as a single one, like a tear-drop to a white ball below. Earth? Not even dust remained. Joel felt the seizures threaten. He screamed to God for an answer, for a prayer, for anything to take the pain away.
The aliens paused him. They moved lightening fast for a time, Joel’s own time only fast enough to register that thought. Then there came new air. Time sped up a little, and he was rotated in all directions. All of the room was dark except where he floated. They spun him about again. Testing for another reaction? It was all dark. He was the last. The pain was a hard knot in his stomach. Tears came through the pain, dry as he was.
Why didn’t they stop time right before she died? Why couldn’t they figure that out when he might have had a chance to save her? They sprayed water into his mouth, a cruel measure of life support given that it was salty. Then came fresh. He tried to push it away but instinct was too strong. He drank. The analytic portion of his mind still ran. Why not slow down time for the animals while learning about them, preserving them until you learn their needs? Then Joel the man’s soul screamed against it all. How could their scans be so utterly fatal to life and they did not notice? Or did they just not care?
He did not want to live this way. He did not want to live at all. The guilt of failing to stop Kim’s seizures, of not trying to save Lee, of not trying to get Kenyon to let him out sooner so that they could all die together all grew within him. Thirst slaked, the emotions started to eat at him. Joel started to feel hunger, and it made him feel ill. The aliens started to rotate him, and he vomited. The aliens did something he couldn’t comprehend and he got sicker, all of him letting go at that moment. If he’d been a young child, his horrified mother would have picked him up and carried him to the bathroom, dumping him in a hot shower for long minutes before scrubbing him to red, raw, clean perfection. Here, there was only an apathetic audience. But his digestive tract carried many germs. Even through his tears, he could see the control panel light up. He’d just changed from an alien specimen to study to an outright bio-hazard. And they understood that much.
More By This Author
- Excerpt from Sirat a novel by Tamara Wilhite
Take the kids through the airlocks to the bathroom. Just a father doing his job, until disaster struck the colony. A short story by scifi author Tamara Wilhite.
The spheres at the edge of his bubble started to glow. Joel felt a sense of elation and relief. Time slowed as they sought to study his reaction. The glow grew brighter. He looked in all directions, just to look away from the aliens. The port doors had opened. The familiar blue ocean was marching toward the outline of California and Baja Mexico. Then he saw the tracery of light on the land. Had others survived? The bio-hazard he created was being incinerated, his body merely scanned. Then he saw the flow of lights from ship to ground. A growing tracery of lights in colors started to spread. How slow was time for him? Then the lights grew to forms humans never made.
The radiation wasn’t accidental destruction of the native life. It was deliberate. They were terra-forming – or whatever aliens called it. The bubble was now clean of his bio-hazard waste, but the scans were increasing in frequency. They were studying their last specimen. The horror of it all made a small corner of his mind threaten to babble denials. The extreme disbelief growing in his mind began a wave of paranoia before the seizures began. He had a brief memory of his first seizure in ER before the spheres started to glow again.
They’d decided that seizures equaled death. And now, for him, it was. He tried to think of Kim in his arms but couldn’t as his skin started to burn. He shouted something that might have been a Hebrew curse or prayer as Hell’s fire fell upon him. They scanned him mercilessly even as they burned him slowly and cleanly. He prayed that his ashes would mingle with hers as they fell to what had been Earth. His last coherent memory was when they were lifted into the air together, the moment when in a perfect world, time should have stood still.