Chad Transtrum

Eloa scratched his head and looked at the message again. He’d never seen a communication error like this before. The message on the sceen in front of him was a mishmash of letters, numbers, and punctuation symbols. But something was odd about it. There was order in the chaos. Usually if there were problems with a message, either the entire packet was dropped and resent, or else the message was far more garbled than this one. He had almost moved to delete it, but for some reason he paused just long enough to realize that there was some semblance of structure in that message.
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“It’s simple, really. We’ve tried to make this as easy as possible. You can come with us,” the man told him. “Or some time in the next few weeks the police can pull your body out of the Bernedigo River.” He spoke calmly, evenly, and without a hint of malice on his face.
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Crime was increasing. Even the government progagandists couldn’t deny it anymore. More and more people were abandoning society and turning to personal greed. It had been practically unknown before the meteor, but more and more it seemed that times were returning to the old days, the old ways before the unification.
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Jevo settled into his seat in the last row of the theater. Mirena had always liked to sit up nearer the front so the screen completely filled her field of vision and she could feel entirely immersed in the film. That was a good analogy of her whole character, he decided. Always up front, fully involved, and eager to participate in the action, unheedful of the full ramifications of her actions.

Jevo, on the other hand, knew that sitting that close would give him a sore neck after the show, and he could appreciate the movie just as well from a distance. He had always preferred sitting in the back, seeing the whole picture at once. Perhaps it was a good analogy for the both of them. He watched things from a distance, analyzing everything he could about it, trying to understand its workings before he committed himself to it. He always had the answers. He always understood things. He knew how things would work out. It’s probably what attracted Mirena to him, because she often needed those answers, having flung herself into yet another activity without thinking it through fully. And Mirena was probably the best thing that had happened to him, dragging him along after her in all her crazy schemes.
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Mirena had noticed the change almost immediately. Not the change that the rest of the world saw, but the real change, the dark change, the secret change that other people refused to believe. At first.
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Floran followed the attendant into the room. A familiar site greeted him. All of the equipment that he had been working on for so long was there. He couldn’t help but glance at the readings. 119 psi on the alescrontium, 128 psi for the glyfenerol. Good. A little on the low side, perhaps, but well within the established safety margins. He turned to check the ferrobule readings.

“Yeah, it can be a little intimidating, but don’t worry. You’re in good hands.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s perfectly normal. A lot of people get a little scared when they see all these canisters, wires, tubing, and monitors, but it’s a simple process, really.”

“Oh, I’m not afraid,” Floran said. He pointed toward the ferrobule tank. “I just wanted to see the ….” His voice trailed off as he noticed his hand was shaking.

The attendant chuckled, a good-natured, compassionate laugh that somehow put Floran at ease. “Nothing to be ashamed of. But rest assured, this is a simple procedure. No need to worry about anything.”

“I understand the process. I get in the coffin,” Floran said, using the nickname they had come up with for it at the institute. “Then you open both the valves, and I spend the next billion years with just one thought stuck in my mind: brrrr.”
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Mirena awoke, a sudden sense of fright gripping her chest. Something was missing, something important. But the memories of the dream slipped, mockingly, from her mind. She thrust out her arm, fingers reaching only at air, urging the something that she did not have, that she did not know, to return to her. But it did not come. Minutes ticked by, and the urgency in her heart was gradually replaced by an overwhelming emptiness, a sense of loss. She cupped her hands around her face, took a deep breath, the first breath she had taken in years, and swung her feet out of bed.

That was when she saw him.
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Eloa stepped out of the building, blinking his way into the bright outside world. He peered up at the rocket and suddenly stopped in his tracks. It was silhouetted against the sun, a tall dark spire standing prominently in the mid-morning sky, with sharp white light glinting through the cockpit windows.

He stood there, mouth open, for several seconds. Davor paused beside him, looking up at the rocket and back at him. “She sure is a beaut, isn’t she?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he laughed, a hearty, lively laugh that seemed to fill his whole soul. A celebration. An awakening. A rebirth.
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“You can’t look at it that way,” I had told him. “This won’t last forever.”

He looked at me with arched eyebrows and opened his mouth, but I had continued before he could speak. “This life is like a journey along a beautiful beach. It’s great to walk along the seashore, feel the moist sand squeeze between your toes, and smell the salty breeze. A lot of days are wonderful, with clear skies and a gentle sun. But some days there are storms. And some days the tide comes in and there is very little beach left.”
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I think I was about 4 when it happened. People tell me that it must have been a big shock at such a young age, but I’m not sure I really noticed it like that. The only reason that I remember it at all is that one night my mother came and slept in my bed with me. She pulled me up against her, and I could feel her body shaking and hot tears in my hair. She never said a word to me, though, and I must have fallen asleep shortly afterward.
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