Jim’s Life
The wise fisherman cast his net into the sea. When he drew it up, it was full of little fish. Among them the wise fisherman saw a fine large fish. He easily chose that one and threw all the little fish back into the sea. Let those with good ears hear this lesson. - Gospel of ThomasIggy trudged through the sandy terrain of the outback with Master James in his arms. The rover now lay far behind them in pieces by the tree. Iggy couldn’t tell if the young man was still alive. James didn’t appear to be breathing, and his broken limbs hung straight down with no resistance. Iggy was horrified by the look of it. His emotional programming would have created a moaning, a low hum of distress from Iggy’s voice box could he have made the sound.
The crash had damaged Iggy as well, including his transmitters. He had lost some power, and without his solar cells recharging, he wondered how long he might hold out. He also looked ragged, with wires hanging from an open shoulder joint and dirt covering his metallic frame.
Twenty percent chance of returning, Iggy thought.
Better odds without the load, but could I make that choice? Iggy had carried a few children before, but they were much smaller than Master James, a fifteen year old who felt surprisingly heavy.
Damn the crash, if only my transmitters were working. For hours he debated if he could make it back. He also wondered what the reception would be if Master James was dead. Iggy looked down at his burden of flesh.
How did I ever get assigned to this? Iggy had been designed for professionals like architects, to be used in their creative processes. Instead he got sold to a mechanic and then given to the man’s son.
He hated the nickname.
For a thousand times, it was Ignatius! I’ve never asked for anything else, and still he can’t even do that.Brison Ranck flipped the meat on the grill. He sprinkled salt from a shaker and worked it into the sizzling slabs with his fingers, then he licked them. He angled the solar receiver to better catch the light of the setting sun. Brison loved free energy, but cooking steaks with the sun’s rays often forced him to eat earlier than he preferred, especially in February and the heat of late summer.
Flow chopped vegetables while watching him through the kitchen window. She reached over the stove to stir the rice pudding.
James’s favorite, she thought. She sipped her glass of red wine, then checked the clock. Six-thirty. Ten minutes after James was supposed to set the table.
Shouldn’t get any pudding for being late. The light-knife took some of her anger out onto the carrots.
Brison caught her eye and held up five broad fingers, indicating the time needed for the meat. Flow nodded, hoping instead he was letting her know their son was home. She checked the clock again. James had his faults, but being late for supper wasn’t one of them.
Why hadn’t Iggy responded? Brison came in with a platter and three steaming steaks, bleeding juices into a puddle about to run over the plate. He walked in slow motion, careful not to spill on the carpet. Smells divine, Flow thought. She watched him in his balancing act, appreciating her gentle giant moving so delicately.
He asked, “How we doin’?”
“Two minutes, Love.” Flow stirred the pudding with one hand while the other put the veggies in a small oven.
“No response?”
“Not yet.” Flow took another drink of wine. She stared at the clock and became lost in thought until the timer sounded. She took the greens and carrots out and placed them on the table.
“Anything else?” Brison asked, lighting candles on a table set for three.
“No, nothing.”
Brison served himself the largest of the steaks, Flow the smallest and the middle one for the absent boy. He poured his wine and added some to Flow’s. James’ setting had water placed by his meal. Brison checked the time and looked out the windows. Twilight was taking over with no sign of their son.
“What do you think, Bris?”
“He’ll be in,” he assured her and sat down. “Iggy’s with him. Not to worry.”
Flow took her seat in compliance. Brison sawed into his steak and placed a large piece in his mouth, chewing impatiently. Flow sipped her wine, then stabbed at a carrot. They ate in silence.
Minutes later it was fairly dark outside. Flow’s steak had a few bites in it, while Brison had nearly finished his meal. From the yard, a dog barked.
Brison left his seat and went out the door. Flow followed. They stood on the threshold of their home, peering out into the dim horizon.
“See anything?” Flow asked.
“No.”
The barking persisted.
“Shep in his pen?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s that?” Flow pointed at an object that appeared to be moving toward them. Brison squinted and found nothing.
“Where?”
“Right there,” Flow insisted, extending an arm out in front of his face.
Brison found it. Sure enough, something was a hundred meters away slowly approaching. They walked cautiously out.
Brison demanded, “Who’s there?” No answer. He squinted as he moved further out toward the entity. “Who is that?”
The dark figure persisted to come closer, making no sound except the shuffle of dust.
“This is private property,” Flow added. “Who’s there?”
The curious figure remained silent, while closing the gap between them. Brison’s fists tightened instinctively.
“Want me to get the laser?” she asked, holding him at the shoulder.
Brison shook his head, sensing something important. He didn’t know what it was, but he wasn’t afraid. Shep barked incessantly as Brison moved ever closer toward the dark figure.
Eventually Brison realized he was looking at the family unit, trudging awkwardly through the desert night.
It’s Iggy, he thought with relief. Where’s James?
“Iggy,” he said, now striding with Flow just behind him. “Where’ve you been?”
As they came to him, they noticed Iggy was carrying something and looked like he had been through hell, with dust all over him and several wires hanging out. How odd everything seemed. It took a moment in the darkness for them to realize their son lay in Iggy’s arms.
Flow screamed, “Oh God, no!”
Nurses and units went to and from the room, setting up the boy with a multitude of devices and medicines. From the office of Sandra Maynard, the head surgeon, Brison and Flow somberly watched a hologram image of their son lying deathly still in bed. With the activity about James, his face was all they could clearly see. It was bruised and badly cut, more like a blob of purples and reds than a human face. From inside the comfortable office, Flow sensed the grave reality all around her. The sounds of buzzing machines, the sterile smells of antiseptic, and the bright lights on the other side of the door were a stark contrast from where Iggy had returned their son. Flow wiped her red eyes while she mumbled to herself all the reasons why this shouldn’t have happened. Brison squeezed her free hand.
When Dr. Maynard came into the room the parents turned eagerly. She removed the thin hospital gown and gloves, then tossed them in a receptacle.
“Mr. and Mrs. Ranck. Sit down, please.”
Brison said, “Just tell us how he is, Doc.”
Maynard lowered her eyes and motioned to the couch. “Please sit.”
They hesitated before obeying. Flow braced herself for the worst while Dr. Maynard pulled a chair over to face them.
“It’s bad. He was gone when he got here, but we were able to get a pulse back.”
“He’s alive?” Flow asked.
“His body is alive. EEG shows preserved brain activity, but no reactions to external stimuli.”
“In English, Doc.”
“Your son is brain-dead.”
Brison couldn’t believe it. “No, can’t be.”
“There’s nothing we can do. I’m very, very sorry.”
Flow expressed panic in fragments. “No… oh no… this… this can’t...”
Brison just shook his head, refusing to accept it. “Surely there must be something that can be done.”
“Brain death is typically irreversible. He’s on life support, but that’s the way he’ll remain.”
“Oh God.”
“What are his chances?” Flow asked.
“For recovery? There have been extremely rare cases, but I need you to realize… it’s not likely.”
“He’s a fighter,” Brison said. “Do whatever you can.”
“We will. Just be aware of what he’s up against.” She squeezed the couple’s hands. “You may stay here and watch him as long as you like.”
Minutes later Brison led Flow down the hospital corroder. She was numb, moving in a daze. She thought of the night’s irony. Two hours before she was angry at her boy for being late to dinner. Now she was wondering if she would see him conscious again.
Why was I angry about that? How stupid!The car drifted down into the Ranck property, hovering a meter over the ground and settling in front of the walk. Brison looked over to Flow in the passenger seat and caught her staring at something.
“Who’s that?” Flow asked.
Brison faced forward, surprised that he hadn’t noticed the Federation car parked just off the driveway to his left. “Dunno.”
They got out of the vehicle. Just then the front doors of the Fed car opened, and out came two men. One of them held out an illuminated image displaying his credentials as a Fed detective. “Mr. Ranck?”
“Yes?”
“I’m Officer Hutchins. This is Bellregard,” the elder man said. The two looked like negatives of each other.
Brison said, “Something I can help you with?”
“Do you have any idea why we’re here?” Bellregard asked. His platinum eyes and teeth gleamed against his dark skin.
“No, sir.”
“It’s about your son,” Hutchins said.
Brison was confused. “Is it about his going to the hospital?”
Hutchins looked away momentarily. “We’re aware of that. I am sorry, but no.”
Flow poured coffee into four mugs as the men sat around the kitchen table. Though it was too late for coffee, Flow didn’t expect to get much sleep anyway.
“Thank you,” the officers said in unison. Randall Hutchins accepted his with his artificial arm. He breathed in the aroma, knowing it would be a good pick-me-up to an unusually long work shift.
Randall’s internal sensors indicated the Rancks weren’t concerned about the interview, that they likely knew nothing of the event. “We’re sorry to hear the news of your son. And yet… your family being Simplists, we have to do this interview.”
Brison said, “We appreciate that, Officer. We just can’t believe you’re talking about our son.”
“Has James been friends for a long time with Abigail Walkins?”
“She goes by Missy,” Flow said. “Her folks live down the road.”
Bellregard added, “The Walkins are also Simplists. Are your families close?”
“Not really,” Brison said. “They’re a bit more devout.”
“A bit?” Flow reminded him.
“About a hundred times more devout.”
“They’re good people, but they like their space. We like ours.”
“And the kids?” Hutchins asked.
“Her parents don’t like Missy in our home,” Brison said.
“Because you’re more liberal with technologies?”
“Right. Sometimes the kids see each other outside.”
“How long have they known each other?”
“For years. ‘Bout the same age.”
Hutchins began with the difficult subject, “Does it surprise you then, that Fed rescue responded to a life alert, after Missy was raped and nearly strangled?”
“That couldn’t have been our son,” Brison insisted.
Flow asked, “So her memory has already been checked?”
“Yes.”
“And what did they find?”
“Even if I had that information, I couldn’t disclose it.”
“Officer,” Flow said, trying to remain composed. “There’s something Fed should know about Missy.”
“What?”
“She’s not entirely sane. She lives in a fantasy world.”
Brison summed it up. “She’s nuts.”
“How so?”
Flow said, “She fabricates things. A twisted sense of reality.”
Bellregard asked, “Twisted enough to alter her perception?”
“I believe so.”
“Anything’s possible,” Hutchins mentioned. “That’s why Ivan and I are here, asking you questions, asking the Walkins questions. Missy’s at forensics having tests done.”
Bellregard added, “And James is being evaluated by Fed investigators.”
“In the hospital?” Flow cried.
“There’s no other way.”
Hutchins tried to calm her. “Mrs. Ranck, please don’t worry. Our investigators are familiar with the needs of patients. Happens all the time. In some ways, they’re better suited for it than nurses and doctors.”
Brison ran his hands through his ruddy brown hair and lamented, “Oh, Christ. This is just what my son needs now.”
“He’ll be fine, sir.”
“How do you know that?”
Flow needed him to be a rock. She reasoned, “If something happened, I can’t believe it was rape.”
“Was anyone else with James at the accident?” Bellregard asked.
“No,” Brison stated. Flow shot him a look and pinched his leg under the table.
“How did you find him?”
“The rover’s transmitter. I tracked it in the car.”
Flow sipped her coffee and wondered,
What the hell is he doing? Randall’s emotional sensors detected deception for the first time.
If Allah brings you to it, He will bring you through it. - KoranMissy lay in bed at a Fed hospital room about ten kilometers from the private one where Jim was. Her glazed eyes fixated on the ceiling as she held Mr. Dangles, a large, purple, stuffed monkey her mum had sent in for her. As a Simplist, Detty was not permitted to be there. Instead, her hologram image sat on the bed next to Missy, mimicking the efforts of wiping away the last remnants of tears.
Detty wished she could pull the covers a tad more over her daughter and the stuffed animal. Her hologram continued the act of stroking her daughter’s blond hair with the back of her fingers. Time stopped. This wasn’t the way Missy was supposed to find out about sex.
She’s only fifteen. How could God have let him?Detty’s image turned away from her daughter and whispered angrily, “You had no right to sedate her without my permission.”
A Federation computer voice answered, “We had every right.”
“You’ve committed a terrible sin. There will be an inquiry into this.”
“That is your right. Our agents can assist you-”
“We’ll use our own agents, thank you.”
“Your daughter’s own life alert brought about Federal involvement. She will resume the rights of a Simplist, but only after fully released from Federation custody.”
Missy said, “I’m okay, Mum. Try to relax.” She felt horrible, not only for herself but for her parents.
“I’m so sorry,” Detty whispered. “Nobody should have to experience that.”
“Then why did it happen?”
“I don’t know. I wish you could be at home with your dad and me tonight.”
“But everything happens for a reason. I know it does.”
“Then you’ll know someday. Now’s not the time for answers.”
The computer broke in, “I’m sorry, Mrs. Walkins. Visiting time is ending.”
From above the hospital ceiling the sound of deep thunder billowed, its reverberations being felt within the room. Moments later heavy drops pelted the roof, creating a steady patter throughout the upper floor.
Detty stared at Missy’s eyes. She’d always found them mysterious, one blue and one brown.
My beautiful child. Why this way?She managed, “Goodnight, Missy.”
“Goodnight, Mum.”
Detty’s hologram slowly faded from the hospital room.
At the Walkins house, the image of Missy disappeared from the living room. Detty turned from it, angry that the image maker had been installed in her all natural home. She went down the hallway with her emotions about to spill over. She opened the bedroom door and found Donnick standing there, waiting expectantly.
At the hospital Missy lay awake. A tear welled up in her blue eye, large enough to blink it aside. A crack of lightning burst in the skies, flooding the room with a flash through the window. Then the calm of the rain returned, and the room powered down to its dimmest sleeping level.
“Help me understand,” Missy whispered in the darkness. “All I want… is to understand it.”
Ten kilometers away, lying in his hospital bed, a peaceful aura of blue light enveloped Jim. He was oblivious to the people and equipment surrounding him in an effort to keep his new body alive. Sleep. Breathe. Forget. Die and be born again. By now he had lost all consciousness of his previous existence. No memory of the lab. Nothing of his past friends or the Grandmother. He lay in his coma like a blank slate with no past and no foreseeable future. Sleep. Breathe. Forget. Die and be born again.
