Age builds in hubris of the standard. The psyche will numb you to daily life: banking, shopping, reacting in the streets. But these are false norms, shifting with great moves and rebellions. Focus on each action with the mental fortitude of great decisions, and those substantial events will melt into the background, akin to ordering a new pair of shoes.
From Applied Diplomacy and Democracy by Brandoch Miller and Invel Recul.
My eyes throb. I feel Mel kneeding a wet towel into the back of my neck. The heat from my forehead pools in topographic identity across her smooth, white table. The taste of tuna and blood clings to the back of my tongue.
“I think he’s coming back around,” Mel wipes away some of the drool and sweat from my chin. I hunch back into my chair. My eyes slam open, and the autofocus goes insane for a moment.
“Hell, if you sprung for that upgrade twenty years ago, then I’d probably knock him back out.” Pops comes into focus, sye’s screen is displaying a scene from RED: Planet Warrior, a regrettable kung fu b-movie I authorized the first decade I was on Mars to pay for one of the soil condensors we installed on Steinbeck. “Why the hell did you have your com off?”
“I was visiting-” Pops flips sye’s toast cartridge, an act sye only commits to when really upset. Mel drifts back into the darkness, the ceiling illuminating a small hallways into her living quarters.
“And why the hell don’t you get back on the grid?” Pops calls to Mel as she exits. Only the darting eyes of the Nerd, huddled in the corner, respond. Mel allows her absence to redirect Pops. "Look, Invel, we got… things.“
I rub my temple, a white hair floats down past my field of vision. I’ve been neurotic about losing my hair since I was twenty-five. What the hell kind of things is my toaster talking about now?
“Yeah, shitstorm things.” Again, with the George Washington animation with the glasses. Apparently sye hasn’t had much free time to devote to creating new displays. Another lecture, great. “First, Hyla got back to you. The full message will be waiting for you when your com reboots, but essentially Brutus. Also mentioned about talking to Rosenkrantz so you don’t end up like Guildenstern. Actually, I think it was Zara.” Apparently sye’s memory banks have been working overtime, Pops rarely confuses anything. “Doesn’t sound good.”
“No.” I sigh. “But expected.” My shoulder hurts now. Mel turns on an old rock album, the bass hangs muffled between Pops and I. What does Zara have to do with it? Wait, that’s a good question. “What does Zara have to do with it?”
“Maybe the last time anyone aggressively investigated or interacted with Brutus, one of our main ships crashed. Accident, phaw.” Pops rapidly switches to one of sye’s preset faces of embarrassment, and shock. “I- I’m sorry Invel. It’s just that… you know.”
My heart is surprisingly steady. They must have given me a great drug cocktail.
“You saying Frank, Tabna, Per, Oliona,” my voice raises despite my best effort, “Guildenstern, Zara, all of them are… were murdered?” Tears welled to my eyes, eloquence and anger never meshed for me.
“Leave it for now,” I wipe the sweat and tears from my cheek. Why does old age come with so much dampness? “What other fucking news do you have?”
Sye switches to a blue screen of death image.
“We’ve got Bop issues.” Pops wavered when speaking, sye’s developing an entire new suite of odd habits.
“What does Bop want now?”
“Actually, from what I gather Bop was impersonating Term to trick Henry and Virgil to hunt that intruding AI.”
My blood pressure spikes.
“What? What the hell is going on? Why didn-”
“If you’d leave your goddamn com on I could'v-”
“Where the hell do you get off lectu-”
“Just look at you! Barely can stand! Inviting death-”
"You goddamn, goddamn… goddamn appliance!”
"Worthless sack of shit and meat!”
Mel clears her throat. Neither Pops or I noticed her reentry into the room. The Nerd is perched on her shoulder. "Are Henry and Virgil okay?”
“Yes,” Pops responded a tad sheepishly. “Term retrieved Ada and Ida from that odd dance club. Ada has a good relationship with Bop, she’s there calming Bop down on the whole external AI thing while keeping Term happy. A hard tight-rope to walk.”
“Did Term enter Bop?” my normal voice returns.
“No, from what Ida reported they were stopped in the warehouse. Term was wise enough to get Ada.”
I see my reflection in my sweat, a small pool on that white table. On the edge of that self-made lake I see Pops wading at noon, myself at six, and Mel at ten. “What the hell is going on? What is Term doing with that AI?” I mutter into the momentary silence. “Why the games, Hyla?” I shake my head. “What am I supposed to do next?”
“Well,” Mel sits across from me, “Amelie would like to speak to you.”
My head feels like airy concrete when I stretch my neck. “That’s right, I was on my way to meet her as well.” Mel, the perpetually beautiful, pulls a smile that is a mirror and remembrance of the man I was, not the broken, ossified husk I am. I built a clock with my brain and strain, and now I am the one getting in the way of the gears. I sigh and look out on the Martian landscape. I miss snow. Water. I miss the frozen certainty of January. In a way, I miss my youth and regret my death. Or the other way around. Pops clicks a few times. I smile.
“I’m sorry Pops. Just tired. I’ll keep my com on.” I turn my communicator in in full.
“We… just have things.” Pop flips to a screen with a drink. “I’m not sure if I can recommend this to you with all the meds you are on, but you could use a drink.”
“Ha.” The solace I used to find in John’s bar where the three of us would plot. Middle aged men dreaming of the stars and overestimating our strength. John, the power. Brandoch, the dreamer. And me? Me? The plate spinner? John, I could use a drink. “Where was I supposed to meet the good professor?”
Mel shrugged, “I think in her office, but that was three or four hours ago. She’s likely in the studio.”
“Think she’ll mind if I stop off at John’s first?”
Mel responds with a smile, “She likes the studio better than you anyways.”
“Oh, ha. Ha. Thanks.” I manage to rise, my head is clearing a bit. “Need to go anywhere, Pops?”
“I actually need to talk with Mel for a bit.” Pops waddles slightly.
“Suit yourself,” I look down at my closest friend, a toaster. “I’ll leave the com on this time.”
Pop’s smiley face fills sye’s screen.
I shuffle towards the door, Mel helps me the last few steps. “How much of this is you?” she whispers, “And how much of this is acting?”
I snort as the door opens. “I’m not even sure yet.” We hug, and I feel the warmth of Mars through her. She smells of paint and tea.
“Be good to yourself, and say hello to John and Amelie for me.” She knives a grin in the fading light.
“Will do.” And the door slides shut. I wait a few minutes, catching my breath. I hear the murmur of Pops and Mel rapidly discussing in my absences. Plans within plans. Mazes of the future.
I shuffle down the corridor, the lights humming a goodbye. To the elevator. To John’s.
